


A Timeworn Tale

by Frequently_Humming



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Cinderella Elements, Gen, M/M, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 38,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frequently_Humming/pseuds/Frequently_Humming
Summary: “Is your father really going to force your brother to marry some rich old duchess from somewhere I can’t pronounce who has twenty dogs that she takes everywhere and a pet peacock she insists on sharing her supper with and calls her ‘little love’?”“Damnation, whoever gave you such a notion,” Iolo laughed merrily.  “As if Father had the wherewithal to pull that off!  And I’m not even certain such a vision exists.”“Well, I didn’t believe it for a second,” Bastian confided, rolling his shoulders back.  “But Jyn had it from Snap who swore Mr. Kaytu said--,”“I’m sure I’m not interested in all the kitchen gossip,” Iolo interrupted before Bastian could continue what was bound to be a long list of supposed informants.  “At worst, Father will convince Poe to think about marriage, in the abstract, and Poe will graciously acquiesce whilst having no intention of doing so.”
Relationships: Bastian & Finn (Star Wars), Iolo Arana & Bastian, Iolo Arana & Poe Dameron, Iolo Arana/Bastian, Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	1. Part 1: Finn

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if anyone noticed, but the world is a bit crazy at the moment. So, I went back to my roots with a little fairy tale to try and lighten the mood, in my little way.
> 
> If you've read any of my earlier stories, you'll feel right at home. If not, welcome!

Bastian stuffed three more muffins into his small rucksack before tugging the leather ties tight and tossing the bag over his shoulder. He jumped off the stool, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, and glanced around to make sure he was still alone and unnoticed. Satisfied, he tiptoed his way out of the kitchen, reaching the servants’ stairs before a hand landed on his head. Bastian let out a stifled squeak, hands flying to his mouth and spinning around, looking up with wide eyes at the smirking teen behind him.

“Iolo,” Bastian hissed, eyes narrowing into a glare and dropping his hands to his sides. “You—what are you doing down here?”

“Looking for you, of course, bug,” Iolo replied, smirk softening as he watched Bastian bounce a bit on his toes, clearly not enjoying the delay. “Are you in a hurry or something?”

“I’ve only got an hour before I have to finish polishing the silver,” Bastian mumbled, looking over his shoulder at the stairs to freedom.

“And where are you planning on going with enough muffins to feed a small household,” Iolo asked, keeping the boy in his place out of his little sense of propriety.

“No one will miss them,” Bastian said quickly, his voice cracking slightly. “You don’t even like muffins.”

Iolo chuckled but agreed with a light, “No, I’m sure no one will notice. And I’ll hardly complain about missing Cook’s dry baked goods.” Bastian’s lips quirked up in a quick smile before he darted a glance over his shoulder again and Iolo relented. “Very well. Be off with you, but don’t be back late or else I’ll send the dogs out after you.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Bastian bumbled, bowing from his waist quickly before giving the taller boy a tight hug around his hips, turning, and bounding up the steep stone staircase, Iolo’s chuckles following him on his ascent.

Iolo watched as the small figure disappeared out of sight, the boy pulling himself up the stairs nearly as tall as he was with a grip on the rope balustrade. He waited until he heard the door to the gardens creaking open and slamming shut before he moseyed away. Iolo picked up a shiny green apple from the barrel in the large larder, rubbing it idly between his palms as he left the kitchen by the passage, taking the carpeted steps two at a time, and emerging into the entrance hall from the door disguised behind a painted panel, closing it behind him with a soft click before heading for the library across the atrium.

“I don’t see why you get to wander off while I’m watched like an invalid at all hours,” Poe drawled darkly as Iolo strolled in, not looking up from the book propped against his thighs as he held up his left hand and caught the apple tossed his way.

“Because you’re the heir and I’m the spare,” Iolo answered cheerfully, falling back into the highbacked chair beside the fireplace and echoing his brother’s pose, legs hanging over one arm, heels bumping the upholstered side as his feet swung.

“Ah,” Poe acknowledged, turning his head to take a large bite of fruit, eyes still studying the detailed map of the surrounding kingdoms in the book. “Knew there was something,” he managed around chewing. Iolo grimaced at the loud, squelching sound while watching the flames jump and crackle in the hearth, thinking it was a bit early in the autumn for the additional heat. “Where did you go, anyway,” Poe asked after swallowing and placing the apple of the small table behind him.

“Down to the kitchens.”

“And how’s your little friend?”

“Escaping from his chores, as usual,” Iolo replied with a smile, which didn’t escape Poe’s notice.

“Perhaps we ought to let him go and find some kitchen boy who will actually do his job,” Poe mentioned, knowing exactly what reaction that would garner.

“Don’t be stupid,” Iolo snapped, upper lip curling in distain as he shot his brother a withering glare. “He does more here than you do.”

Poe snorted, looking over at the seething thirteen-year-old with a cocked eyebrow. “Maybe, but I also don’t disappear to who knows where every afternoon.”

“You would if you could,” Iolo shot back, and Poe shrugged in response, shutting the book with a snap and setting it to the side. He picked up the apple and tossed it underhand across the carpeted space between the seats, Iolo catching it with one hand and scowling at the fruit. “There are no laws saying Bastian can’t leave the palace. He’s not a prisoner.”

“I never said he was,” Poe countered lightly.

“No, you just act as though he deserves to be thrown out into the night--,”

“Save your dramatic recitation for someone who deserves it,” Poe interrupted with a shake of his head. “You’re too easy to wind up, you know, especially about your kitchen bug.” Iolo frowned and moodily took a chomp of the tart apple. Poe rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine, have it your way. Join me for a ride before dinner?”

“I don’t think I will,” Iolo retorted haughtily, hurling the half-eaten fruit back at his older brother, who used two hands before it could smack him in the face.

“What, are you going to patrol the kitchens until he comes back? Moon and stars, Lo, he’s not your responsibility!”

“He’s my friend.”

“He’s a nine-year-old servant, and you wouldn’t even know who he was if you hadn’t found him crying in the hedges four years ago.”

“Yes, well,” Iolo blinked. “Well, I did, and I do and if that’s how you plan on convincing me to go riding with you, you’ve missed your mark by a longshot.”

Poe huffed and smiled, getting to his feet. “No, I plan on convincing you by reminding you that you have a better chance of catching Bastian in his hideaway if you find his trail.”

“What are you waiting for then,” Iolo called over his shoulder as he marched out of the library, leaving the fifteen-year-old to run an exasperated hand down his face and mutter,

“I don’t know if this is pathetic or heartwarming, brother mine.”

Bastian, blissfully unaware that he was the topic of royal discussion, ducked out through the tradesmen’s gate and took the first turn onto a curving dirt track down the grassy hill towards the outskirts of the capital. He blinked against the bright sunlight that still burned his eyes a bit after the long day in the butler’s cupboard with a tub of grease and rag as he attacked yet another tiny spoon that was surely too small to serve any practical purpose. His pace accelerated to a skip as the incline increased, and he threw out his arms to keep his balance as a few pebbles rolled his steps.

At the foot of the hill, Bastian hitched his bag more securely onto his shoulder before sprinting off across the neat field, ducking under the wooden crisscross fence easily, and following the trail between the rows of golden grain, almost ready to be harvested. He snatched a feather-ended strand with a small giggle before he broke through the crop. Bastian shimmied through a small gap in the carefully trimmed hedges, emerging into the autumnal remnants of what was a rather spectacular rose garden when the season was right. 

Looking around and finding the courtyard empty, Bastian set off for the for the foreman’s cottage below by the serviceable pond beyond the gardens. He traipsed down the white stone steps recessed into the hill, sending a little wave towards the two maids who were beating a large rug draped between two sturdy apricot trees. His greeting was returned benignly if not distractedly, and Bastian continued to the stone and thatch lodge.

He knocked two knuckles against the solid wood door, and an answering grunt was enough to have Bastian letting himself in. The interior was brightly illuminated by the afternoon sun, much to the frustration of the young man seated at the desk with ledgers spread before him, his hands shielding his eyes from the glaring light. Bastian thought it was cozy and didn’t bother shutting the door behind him as he approached the desk. With the wispy end of the strand of grain, Bastian reached out across the table and tickled the other’s nose, which twitched in response and drew another small giggle from Bastian. The seated young man looked up with a small but genuine smile and greeted,

“Hi, Bas. Is it that time already?”

“Yep, I’ve got muffins today,” Bastian announced, swinging his sack from his shoulder to the desk, smacking it right on top of the ledgers. The teenager huffed out a laugh as he moved the bag to the side and carefully closed the long books and set them to the side. “Have you been here all day, Finn?”

“Yes—or very nearly,” Finn replied with a sigh, leaning forward to help Bastian haul himself up to sit on the edge of the table, Finn’s hand griping the boy’s frayed shirt collar. “There you go. I wonder if you’ll have a growth spurt or stay pocket-sized forever.”

“I better grow,” Bastian mumbled darkly, dragging his bag into his lap and tugging it open, handing over one of the muffins to Finn before setting to work laying the others out across the desk.

“Nonsense, what could you possibly need to be taller for,” Finn asked as he set about picking off the brunt nuts from the dome of the muffin in his hand.

“Well, for one, it would be nice not to be taken for a weirdly articulate nursery babe,” Bastian answered, and that surprised a bright laugh from the older boy. Satisfied, Bastian picked up one of the muffins and considered the stacked ledgers. “Are you supposed to be doing all this?”

“And pray tell who else would do it,” Finn asked, raising his eyebrows and breaking off a small crumb of muffin and popping it into his mouth.

“Your father comes to mind,” Bastian mentioned, and Finn promptly replied hotly with,

“If you can find him, do, and I’ll be more than happy to tell him _all_ of his duties he’s been neglecting the past few years.” Bastian grimaced at that, and Finn frowned, stretching forward to rub his palm across the younger boy’s bent back. “I’m sorry, Bas. I shouldn’t take out my bad mood on you.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Bastian shrugged, eyes on the baked good in his hands, and Finn felt his heart squeeze uncomfortably.

“How has your day been?”

Bastian shrugged again, not replying, and Finn tried a different tactic, getting up with a stretch and moving around to sit on the desk next to his friend.

“If I were a king,” Finn began, watching from the corner of his eye as the corners of Bastian’s lips twitched up, “I would outlaw working after three in the afternoon.”

“If I were a king,” Bastian continued the refrain easily, “I would get rid of useless tiny, baby spoons with flower handles that take forever to polish.”

“These muffins are particularly foul today,” Finn commented lightly, and Bastian nodded frantically in agreement.

“I think even I could do better than this, you know?”

“Well, why don’t you,” Finn suggested, and Bastian rolled his eyes.

“They’ll never promote a kitchen boy to a baker. My parents weren’t even interior servants. I don’t have the pedigree or experience--,”

“That’s exactly what I thought when I started all this,” Finn interrupted, gesturing with the muffin in his hand to the shelves of ledgers and records. “But I learned, and you can too.”

“Cook hates me,” Bastian countered with a shake of his head. “She’ll never vouch for me.”

“Well then, you’ll have to go over her head,” Finn said sensibly.

“You mean Mr. Kaytu,” Bastian asked skeptically, picturing the stern first butler.

Finn rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t mean that old stuffed shirt.” He sent Bastian a pointed look, which the younger boy blinked uncomprehendingly at. “I meant a certain prince who goes out of his way to visit you.”

“I don’t think Iolo will go out of his way for me to poison him by accident,” Bastian pointed out, and the fourteen-year-old nodded at the sensibility of that.

“Maybe you should practice first. I won’t mind being poisoned a little, for a good cause.”

Finn’ and Bastian’s laughter rippled through the open window and the two maids exchanged knowing smiles.

_**Six Years Later**_

“I tell you, you are one-and-twenty--,”

“As if I haven’t been reminded of it every minute of every day since that unfortunate birthday,” Poe snapped, crossing his arms with a scowl. A not-quite suppressed snort behind him had Poe rounding on his brother, who was leaning back against the frame of a tall bookcase, dressed from a ride with his gloves fisted in his right hand. “Just wait until you have the bad luck of turning _one-and-twenty_ and see how amusing it is.”

“Do not antagonize your brother,” the king said with bone-weary exasperation, meeting his eldest’s glare with a bland look of his own.

“Thank you, Father,” Iolo chimed from his spot, and Poe mumbled,

“Brownnoser,” darkly.

“That’s quite enough—from both of you,” King Kes said firmly, sending a firm look at his youngest, who sighed and cast a glance out the tall windows in a show of disinterest. “Now, Poe, it’s not impractical at your age to at least _begin_ to contemplate--,”

“Father, I’m hardly in my dotage and neither are you,” Poe pointed out through clenched teeth. “Besides that, I thought the reason we didn’t drown Iolo in the duck pond when we had the chance was to provide an heir to the kingdom if I should not.”

“High and mighty talk from the man who is still scared of nesting geese,” Iolo commented idly, tapping the toe of his boot against the polished marble floor.

“Your brother is not an excuse for you to ignore your own duties,” Kes replied primly, folding his fingers together and resting his hands over his chest as Poe tossed his hands over his head with a moan. “Also, that is not the reason no one drowned you, my dear,” he added to Iolo, who looked up at his father. “I love you very much.”

“How touching. Shall I leave the two of you,” Poe asked loudly, striding over to the window and bracing his arms on either side of the frame, staring out at the sprawling patchwork of roofs and streets and fields spread below.

Iolo rolled his eyes as his father pushed himself to his feet and crossed his study to stand beside Poe at the window, their heads bowing together comfortably as they entered into private discussion, as usual. Iolo looked over at the small clock ticking away on the self by his head, wondering if he was better off leaving now while they were distracted or—

“Psst!”

Iolo’s expression softened into an easy smile as he took a large step back, the wood paneled wall opening a sliver to show a mischievous grin. “I thought I heard a little bug.”

“I’ll have you know Jyn says I’m growing like a weed,” Bastian countered softly. “Anyway, thought you should know you have half the palace staff listening at the door.”

“Do we? How strange,” Iolo said, pulling the hidden door a bit more, making sure the other two occupants weren’t paying him any attention before he moved to join Bastian in the narrow stairwell. “Is it as boring as that around here?”

“You’d know if you were ever here anymore,” Bastian replied with a shadow of a pout that left Iolo smirking and petting a hand over the younger man’s curls, pulled back into a mass of hair in the nape of his neck.

“Missed me a little? I’ve only been gone a couple weeks,” Iolo teased quietly. Bastian shrugged moodily and shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands conspicuously hidden behind him back. “And what are you concealing, bug?” Bastian stuck out his tongue but revealed a little white plate with two cookies upon it. “I knew you weren’t truly cross with me.”

“Maybe I’m just bribing you for information,” Bastian mentioned as Iolo plucked up the two lacy cookies, holding out one for the fifteen-year-old, who shoved the empty plate under his arm and accepted it with a smile.

“In that case, you are the clever one and most likely will succeed because I can’t say no to your spice cookies,” Iolo replied, toasting the younger teen with said cookie before taking a bite.

“Is your father _really_ going to force your brother to marry some rich old duchess from somewhere I can’t pronounce who has twenty dogs that she takes everywhere and a pet peacock she insists on sharing her supper with and calls her ‘little love’?”

“Damnation, whoever gave you such a notion,” Iolo laughed merrily. “As if Father had the wherewithal to pull that off! And I’m not even certain such a vision exists.” 

“Well, I didn’t believe it for a second,” Bastian confided, rolling his shoulders back. “But Jyn had it from Snap who swore Mr. Kaytu said--,”

“I’m sure I’m not interested in all the kitchen gossip,” Iolo interrupted before Bastian could continue what was bound to be a long list of supposed informants. “At worst, Father will convince Poe to think about marriage, in the abstract, and Poe will graciously acquiesce whilst having no intention of doing so.”

“Truth be told, I think everyone will be relieved to hear that,” Bastian said, passing over the second cookie as Iolo finished the first. Iolo raised an eyebrow in question and, at Bastian’s reassuring nod, accepted the cookie. “Everyone is very set in their ways, and having someone new come in and shake everything up—I mean, what if they don’t like desserts?”

“Never fear, I won’t allow Poe to marry anyone who doesn’t appreciate your baking,” Iolo soothed, not noticing the overjoyed look cross the younger’s face as the door was jerked open and the elder prince stuck his head inside.

“I thought as much,” Poe mumbled, taking in the scene before saying over his shoulder, “He’s hiding away with the baker’s apprentice, probably stuffing his face.”

“I beg your pardon,” Iolo drawled, drawing himself up indignantly, but the effect was lost as Bastian revealed a small scone from his apron pocket and passed it over to Poe with a sheepish smile.

“Thank you,” Poe said with a wink and finished the pastry with one bite. “Come in,” he mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs as he strolled back into the study.

Bastian and Iolo exchanged a quick, disconcerted look, and Bastian asked, “He doesn’t mean me, right?”

“I don’t see why not,” Iolo replied briskly, and left the stairwell before Bastian had a chance to point out the many reasons why he wouldn’t be invited to a private audience with the realm’s royal family. Still, he figured it was probably ruder to not follow if he was expected than to follow if he wasn’t, and he nervously inched his way into the study, wishing he didn’t have quite so much flour puffed over his smock.

“Ah yes, I might have known,” the king said, seated again in the overstuffed armchair beside the cold fireplace. Poe was seated in the other dark green chair, and Iolo stood behind, leaning his weight casually on the back of the armchair. “Young one, would you be so good as to send my chamberlain to me?”

“Yes, sire,” Bastian murmured to his shoes, and Iolo shot his father a pointed look.

Kes, not in the habit of explaining his reasons to the lower kitchen staff, found himself continuing, “We shall be holding a small--,”

“Miniscule,” Poe contributed.

“—ball in honor of my eldest’s recent birthday,” the king finished, casting an exasperated look Poe’s direction. 

Bastian perked up at the tidbit of information, and Iolo sent him a warm smile, which did not escape Kes’s notice. “I will inform the chamberlain, your majesty,” Bastian answered properly. Kes inclined his head in dismissal, and the fifteen-year-old scampered back to the hidden door, spinning on his heel to offer a quick, low bow before bounding away, shutting the door behind him.

“Are we auditioning eligible suitors,” Iolo asked with mild interest, inspecting his nails.

“No,” Poe replied firmly.

“It’s more of an acknowledgement that we are aware of Poe’s status and aware of the talk it inspires.”

“In other words, we know every parent has his and her sights set on Poe, and we’re throwing a ball to let them think they have a chance,” Iolo said, dodging away from the flailing hand of his brother.

“Yes, please, speak of me as if I’m not here. You know how much I enjoy that,” Poe interjected with false cheer. Iolo rolled his eyes and landed a light smack on the back of his brother’s head with his gloves.

“Well, if that’s all I’m needed for, I think I’ll attempt to wash the road off,” Iolo announced. Kes held up a finger and Iolo went on, “Yes, I will be at this ball with bells on. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“I’m glad my misery can bring some joy,” Poe called, and Iolo shot him a smug grin before letting himself out of the study. “I don’t see why you sent for him. I don’t need my little brother to shame me into behaving, you know.”

“Perhaps I missed having my family together,” Kes countered lightly with a thoughtful look at the wall. “Tell me: is there anything between him and that boy?”

“Besides hero worship and childhood affection? No,” Poe replied without a second thought. Then he narrowed his eyes and asked suspiciously, “Why?”

“I was merely wondering,” Kes answered vaguely, but Poe’s face fell into a comically disgusted expression.

“Oh, stars _no_ ,” Poe breathed. “Never in a _thousand_ years!”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Kes responded calmly.

“Iolo and the _bug_?! It’s—unthinkable and indecent and _wrong_!”

“I’ll allow, it did cross my mind that the boy is a bit young.”

“He’s practically an infant—and Iolo knows better than to—to allow even a thought--,”

“Yes, indeed,” Kes pacified quickly, reaching out to pat his flustered son’s knee. “We’ll say no more on the subject.”

Bastian, meanwhile, dashed down the familiar path, propelling himself over the wooden fence, and cutting through the field, half harvested by the busily working men and women whom Bastian waved to as he passed. He rounded the hedges at a fast clip, heading for the granary beyond the field.

Finn, marking the weight of the latest load on his rapidly-lengthening list, barely had time to catch sight of his approaching visitor and step away from the scale before Bastian leapt and slammed into him, arms around Finn’s neck and legs around Finn’s waist.

“—never going to believe it, it’s so exciting and you’ll never guess who told me--,”

“Will you finish this up for me,” Finn directed to the estate’s foreman over Bastian’s babbling. The giant of a man gave a grunt in response, which Finn took as a yes, and Finn carried the teenager easily over to the bales of dried hay around the side of the barn. He deposited Bastian gently before taking a seat beside him and said, “Now, from the beginning, what are you trying to tell me?”

“There’s going to be a ball,” Bastian declared breathlessly.

“That should be lovely,” Finn allowed with a friendly nod. “And how did you find this out?”

“The king himself told me!”

Finn blinked and frowned, puzzled. “His majesty told _you_?”

“I know, I don’t really believe it myself—but I was talking to Iolo—he’s back by the way—and then Poe, well the sum of it is there’s to be a ball and the king himself told me.”

Finn nodded, not quite following that string of consciousness but accepting it. “Well, that will keep you very busy. I suppose the ball is to announce the eldest prince’s entrance onto the marriage mart?” Bastian nodded with a sly smile and Finn shook his head. “I almost pity him.”

“Why? He gets to have a party!”

“Yes,” Finn allowed, picking at some loose hay from the bale. “But even a party can be a burden, depending on the circumstances.”

“Oh well,” Bastian waved the comment away. “Iolo says--,”

“And Iolo must always have the last say,” Finn teased, twisting one strand of coarse curls that had escaped Bastian’s hair tie. Bastian rolled his eyes and crossed in arms, saying no more, and Finn massaged his temple in mild exhaustion. “Very well, you were saying?”

Bastian chewed his bottom lip for a moment more before relenting. “The prince probably won’t have to marry anyone. At least not now. But there’s still going to be a ball and Mr. Kaytu had it from the chamberlain that every noble in the land will be invited.”

“You’ll be baking for days,” Finn said, suitably impressed. “Don’t feel that you have to come and feed me every day if you’re too busy.”

“As if I wouldn’t,” Bastian rolled his eyes and pulled a small bundle from his apron pocket, passing it over with a smile. “Anyway, I guess this finally means you’ll be making your way up the road.”

“I don’t see why it should,” Finn frowned, smoothing the leg of his trousers, wiping away dust and crusted mud.

“Well, you’re a noble just as much as any other,” Bastian poked. “Maybe you don’t like to act like it, but you’ve been Lord Skywalker since you were twelve, really.”

“Let’s not consign my father to his grave, even if I do wish him to the devil most days,” Finn chuckled, looking up and squinting against the setting sun at the manor house set away from the fields, gray stones painted orange and yellow by the light.

“Oh alright,” Bastian allowed with a huff, leaning back against the barn wall. “But that still makes you a _son_ of a nobleman, and you’ll get an invitation without a doubt. You can’t just refuse.”

“Watch me,” Finn replied promptly, and Bastian smacked his friend’s arm in retaliation. Finn laughed and shrugged. “Besides the ball couldn’t come at a worst time. The harvest isn’t finished, and we’ll need to arrange things with the mill, prepare the fields for winter, set the vegetables in order--,”

“And you’re going to do all of that in one night?”

Finn blinked and scowled. “I suppose not, but--,”

“But you’re going to make as many excuses as you can to stay here forever,” Bastian finished, tilting his head up to gaze at Finn, the breeze catching the short wisps of hair and creating a slight halo around him. “Aren’t you?”

“Well,” Finn gulped, not appreciating the frank and bored look trained on him. “In any event, I haven’t got an invitation, nor anything fit to wear so in practical matters--,”

“You’ll have an invitation and I’ll take care of the clothing,” Bastian said instantly, jumping to his feet while Finn gaped. “You’ll come, right? And I’ll make the biggest, tallest sugar tower and you’ll know it’s for you even though I suppose I can’t stop others from eating it—there’ll be roses and those bluebells you like and--,”

“Bas, now hold on,” Finn started, but Bastian just grinned and shook his head.

“No, no, you’ll see. It’s about time your left your grounds and why shouldn’t you have _one night_ away from your ledgers and crops and—and _duties_?”

“Because I--,”

“I have to get back, but I’ll see you tomorrow. The night of the full moon, Finn; that’s when the ball will be, and you are going even if I have to drag you there by your socks!”

_**Three Days Later**_

There was the sound of a throat clearing mutedly and Iolo, without looking up from his letter, said, “Hang it on the screen, thank you.”

“Hang what?”

Iolo’s head popped up with a relaxed smile. “Well now, bug, what are you doing, creeping around like that?”

“I wasn’t creeping,” Bastian retorted with an impish smirk as he made his way further into the small study Iolo had commandeered. “If I wash my face and wear clean shoes, I’m allowed upstairs sometimes.”

“Hardly seems worth the effort,” Iolo mentioned, placing his quill aside and flipping the lid of the inkwell shut. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Is this what you’re going to wear to the ball,” Bastian asked, strolling over to the tailored coat of midnight blue and silver embroidery. Iolo turned in his chair, notching his right arm over the top and watching as the fifteen-year-old scrutinized the garment.

“It may be,” Iolo allowed. “I’m expecting the delivery of a second option soon. Why, don’t you like it?”

Bastian considered it, looking from the jacket to Iolo with a pensive expression. “You usually wear blue and gold. Not silver.”

Iolo blinked in mild surprise. “Quite right. I wasn’t aware my fashion choices were worthy of note.”

“The gold matches your hair,” Bastian shrugged, returning his attention to the garment and missing Iolo’s private, pleased smile. “How much does one of these costs?”

“Too much, I’m sure,” Iolo replied dismissively, straightening the sheets of his completed letter. “If it were up to me, I’d wear something I already have and be done with it. But I’m told it would raise eyebrows if I arrived at my brother’s ball in ‘rags and disarray.’”

Bastian nodded as he listened with half an ear. “But if you had to guess, without the fancy stitching, how much would it be?”

Iolo paused in his fiddling and frowned, shooting a sidelong look at the younger teen. “Why do you ask?”

“For a friend,” Bastian answered instantly.

“Ah,” Iolo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “For a friend.”

“Yes, you see, he doesn’t own anything like this, and I told him I’d help—for the ball, you know.”

“Of course,” Iolo nodded understandingly, getting to his feet. “Why don’t you come have a seat, Bastian.”

Bastian gave the prince a dubious look but moved closer. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing in the world,” Iolo assured, reaching out and pressing the palm of his left hand to Bastian’s shoulder, urging him down into the cushioned chair. “Now, you know clothes do not make the man, don’t you?”

Bastian scowled and crossed his arms. “If you’re just going to lecture me--,”

“No, I won’t,” Iolo interrupted smoothly. “But perhaps you should tell—your friend that he doesn’t need a fancy jacket or something to feel like he belongs.”

“Well, he’s going to look a bit odd if he shows up on the grand staircase in his work clothes,” Bastian shot back, drumming his heels against the carved wooden chair legs.

“You realize an invitation is required,” Iolo hinted gently, and the suggestion brightened Bastian’s face considerably.

“He got his invitation yesterday. I told him he would because there’s no reason why he wouldn’t but--,”

“Who are we talking about,” Iolo cut in, his head spinning a little.

“I _told_ you: my friend,” Bastian whined, tossing up his arms in exasperation. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even bothered asking.”

“Wait, one moment,” Iolo said, catching Bastian’s shoulders as the younger made to stand and move away. “If you really want to know the price, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t handle those bills. But if money is a concern, I would suggest your friend tries to borrow something from someone.”

“Borrow,” Bastian repeated softly, brow clearing. “And if the person is the same size and won’t miss it--,”

“Yes, yes, yes, but who on earth are you talking about,” Iolo pressed, brows drawn close. “Who do you know who could possibly--,”

“Oh, don’t you know? The second footman is a duke,” Bastian interrupted drily with a face. Iolo blinked and then a small chuckle bubbled up from his chest, a soft smile easing his face.

“Alright, little bug, have your secrets.”

“It’s not exactly a secret—well, it _is_ but I’m not trying to make it one. He said I shouldn’t—but, I guess it doesn’t really matter now anyway, does it,” Bastian finished in a rush that left Iolo shaking his head.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re saying to me, but I’m sure I’ll find out in some convoluted manner.”

“And if you see him at the ball, you’ll be nice to him, right,” Bastian asked, on his feet and looking up at the prince with earnest eyes.

Iolo huffed softly and gathered Bastian’s hands into his own. “Yes, I will be nice to your mysterious friend, should I have the good fortune to discover him.”

“Thank you,” Bastian said with sincerity, and Iolo found himself studying his friend’s face for possibly the first time since they had met all those years ago. His cheeks were still rounded childlike, but his ears were no longer disproportionately large.

“Please tell me this was delivered to me in error because I can’t imagine what the tailor was think--,” Poe broke off, jaw hanging loosely as he took in his younger brother standing hands-in-hands with the baking apprentice. “Um. I beg your pardon?”

“Is that your second option,” Bastian asked, blissfully unassuming as he disentangled his hands and went over to examine the formal coat draped over Poe’s arm. Poe numbly held his arm out for Bastian to look as he studied his brother. Iolo frowned in confusion, shrugging as he leaned back against the desk. Poe trained what he hoped was stern look of censor at Iolo, who shook his head in incomprehension. “This one is much better,” Bastian declared, looking over his shoulder and Iolo’s expression shifted to polite interest. “I like the green more than the blue.”

“I think I agree with you,” Iolo nodded. “Poe, tell me if you would like the blue one.”

Poe reluctantly started for the screen, his eyes not leaving his brother. Bastian looked between the two princes and decided he had missed something.

“I have to get back,” he told Iolo. “I still have about fifty sugar roses to make and paint. Do people even eat sugar flowers?”

“I’ve always found them more decorative than edible,” Iolo replied. “But if you recommend them, I will be sure to try one.” Bastian shrugged with a noncommittal smile before backing for the door. Iolo rolled his eyes and waved his hand, saying, “Don’t play at propriety, bug.”

Bastian burst out in happy laughter. “Well, I won’t then,” he announced before waving over to Poe, who nodded bewildered in response. Then the fifteen-year-old turned on his heel and waltzed out of the small study, Iolo’s chuckles following him out.

There was a moment’s suspended pause and then Poe said drily, “You’re consulting the kitchen bug for fashion advice.”

“Yes, and you’d do well to follow my example,” Iolo drawled, crossing to join his brother in three strides, taking the green velvet jacket from Poe and giving it a quick once over. “He was right. This will suit me better.”

“His opinion is not the part of that little scene I’m questioning,” Poe pointed out, meeting his brother’s sharp look with a firm one of his own.

“Bastian wanted to ask me a question. Surely that’s permittable even in your strictly governed principles.”

Poe, who had never thought of himself as someone with _strictly governed principles_ , merely blinked in reply and his brother turned the subject back to more trivial matters.

Which was to become the pattern of the elder prince’s life.

The few days prior to the ball was manic for everyone except the man it was meant to honor. Poe couldn’t recall ever being so bored before in his life. Everything was taken care of without any need for his input or acquiescence, from the food to the decorations to the pageantry. Even Iolo had been recruited over him to arrange the order of the music for the evening, the excuse given that Poe ‘didn’t want to be there anyway so what does he care which dance was played when.’ Poe had gone so far as to sneak down to the kitchens in hope of some distraction, but the entire place had been chaos, and Bastian had been carefully burning himself as he crafted a sugar tower under the overly critical eye of the head baker. Poe stayed long enough to suggest to the master confectioner that if he wasn’t satisfied with Bastian’s efforts, he should take on the task himself before taking solace in a long ride through town and into the woods beyond.

But on the night of the ball Poe presented himself, coifed and attired within an inch of his life. Iolo took one look at him and burst out laughing, falling back against one of the marble columns in the solar when the family had gathered before their entrance.

“Oh, shut up,” Poe grumbled, tugging the cuff of his shirt straight as best he could while the tight sleeve of his burnt orange jacket fought against the adjustment. “I’d like to see you say ‘no’ to the dresser once she gets started.”

“Iolo, behave,” the king censored lightly from his place in front of the window, watching idly as carriages, small like toys, crossed the bridge below.

“Come here,” Iolo ordered, pointing to one of the more comfortable armchairs, and Poe made his way over with a scowl, falling back into it with a sigh. Instantly Iolo was in front of him, running his fingers through his brother’s hair with a determined look. “Once we sort this out and get that damn powder off your face, you’ll at least look like yourself.”

“Yes, the powder is quite unnecessary,” Kes agreed, moving to collect the water jug and basin from the sideboard.

“Thank you,” Poe mentioned quietly, and Iolo shrugged, ruffling Poe’s curls loose from their lacquered place.

“You deserve to at least look presentable tonight,” he replied lightly, stepping back to study his work. He reached out and twirled one of Poe’s curls around his finger and let it fall across Poe’s forehead. “Better. How much wax did they use on you,” Iolo asked in mild disgust as he looked at his glistening hands.

“Here, my dear,” Kes directed, placing the basin on the small table beside Poe and pouring the water over Iolo’s offered hands. “And how are you feeling, Poe?”

“Oh, I don’t care. It’s not as if I haven’t been to a dozen of these before,” Poe replied breezily as Iolo pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and dipped it in the jug before setting to Poe’s face with vigorous rubbing. “You could be a bit gentler,” Poe muttered as their father turned to respond to a soft knock at the solar’s door.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Iolo reminded, wetting the cloth again and moving to the left side of Poe’s face. “Anyway, consider this my thanks.” Poe hummed questioningly, shutting his eyes as Iolo brought his handkerchief to them. “Bastian told me what you did. I didn’t realize—he never told me he was facing opposition in the kitchens.”

“I didn’t do anything, but I’ll take your thanks happily. Have you seen that tower he’s been slaving away over,” Poe asked, blinking his eyes open as Iolo dropped the smeared cloth in the basin and drew a second handkerchief from his other sleeve.

“He said he wanted it to be a surprise,” Iolo replied, passing over the fresh white square of cloth to his brother, who employed it in drying his face. “But I’ve heard rumors.”

“If you’re satisfied with your alterations, I’m told our guests are waiting,” Kes informed from the open doorway. Iolo held out his hand and Poe accepted the token help as he was pulled to his feet. He took a moment to ease velvet into place along his younger brother’s shoulders before nodding satisfied and the two moved to join their father. Kes smiled warmly, cupping a cheek each of his sons. “When did you grow up?”

“Don’t go teary on us now,” Iolo teased, clapping his father on his shoulder. “We have to smile _very_ sincerely, you know.”

With that, Iolo led the family out of the room before falling into step behind his father and older brother as they marched down the hall, footmen bowing as they passed. Poe glanced back as they neared the tall doors to the grand ballroom and winked. Iolo stuck out his tongue in response and any lingering nerves in him eased away. Kes stopped, Poe moving to stand on the king’s right, a step behind, and Iolo finishing the frame on his father’s left. Kes nodded to the footmen at the doors, and Iolo raised his chin a bit higher and Poe rolled his shoulders back as the doors parted to trumpeted fanfare.

“Stars, they don’t look real,” Finn muttered, seemingly to a blank wall. The panel crept open a crack and Bastian peeked through in time to see the royal family begin their measured descent down the grand staircase.

“They do clean up well,” Bastian whispered, ducking back a bit as a rather snotty lady in front of Finn looked around at the comment. Finn smiled blandly at the woman in a fluffy pink dress, who merely sniffed and returned her attention to the royals, their forms almost shimmering in the candlelight that surrounded them. “Sorry.”

“Just keep the commentary to yourself,” Finn mumbled lowly, crossing his arms and taking a step back so he could see both Bastian and the royal family, who had reached the first landing and paused to accept the low bows and curtseys with benevolent smiles. “Honestly, how do people look like that?”

“Well, if anyone would know, it’s you,” Bastian stated, inching a little further into the ballroom so he could get a better view.

“Be careful, and what are you talking about,” Finn hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed Bastian’s appearance. But someone had, and Finn watched in amazement as Prince Iolo looked in their direction. The prince’s smile widened ever so slightly, and he nodded at them before turning his attention back and continuing down the stairs behind the king. Bastian pinched Finn’s wrist before slipping back behind the hidden door and shutting it, just as what felt like every eye in the ballroom turned to Finn, who shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of the deep violet coat Bastian had provided him with earlier that evening with the slightly curious warning that he needed it back before morning, and ignored the scrutiny as he watched the royal family reach the dais. The king lowered himself into the gilded throne, the princes standing on either side, their hands clasped behind their backs, and the orchestra struck up a light tune. 

It was too early in the evening for dancing, and, despite the openly curious looks being sent his way, Finn didn’t know who or how to begin to mingle. He decided to err on the safe side and weaved his way over to the refreshments, joining the small crowd gathered in amazement at the large, translucent tower of spun sugar. Roses, butterflies, and songbirds of painted sugar reached up towards the ceiling, and Finn smiled as he caught sight of a cluster of dangling, bright bluebells, intricately crafted from blown sugar. Finn reached up and carefully snapped one of the bluebell blossoms from its green stem, garnering a few gasps. Finn examined it closer, a little shocked to find bright yellow anthers, almost levitating inside the sugar flower. It must have taken ages to craft just one, and, as he promised, Finn popped it in his mouth, almost choking at the appalled gasps and moans from onlookers.

“Yes, just so,” came a smooth voice, and Finn’s eyes widened as Prince Iolo appeared beside him, looking up at the tower. “I believe I will have a rose myself,” the prince commented, breaking off a translucent mauve rose from the tower as he shot Finn a private smile. “It’s such a shame no one ever eats these, don’t you agree.”

“Mmm,” Finn hummed in agreement around the sugar bluebell melting in his mouth. The prince nodded at that, as if Finn had said something particularly enlightening. Finn risked another glance around and felt his stomach sink, noticing he had nearly everyone watching him now.

“Will you join me,” the prince asked, gesturing towards the glasses of pale sparkling wine arranged in long rows on a second table.

“I’m sorry, but I think you have me mistaken for someone else, your highness,” Finn stated after swallowing the rest of the sugar work.

“Indeed,” the prince asked, raising an eyebrow. “A—mutual acquaintance, shall we say, asked me to be ‘nice’ to you, should we have the pleasure of meeting tonight.”

“Oh, did he,” Finn retorted darkly, any pretense at decorum vanishing as he imagined landing a solid kick to Bastian’s shins. The prince chuckled lowly, inclining his head slightly towards the bystanders. Understanding dawning, Finn nodded and the two made their way to the wine, the other nobles parting before them. “I feel that I should apologize for Bastian’s—presumptions,” he stated, accepting a glass from the prince.

“Not at all. I have always found Bastian’s manner refreshing,” Iolo replied easily, holding out his thin flute for Finn to tap his against before taking a sip. “But I’m afraid that was where Bastian’s divulgence ceased. He did not mention even your name to me.”

“It’s Finn.”

“A fine name,” Iolo allowed with a smile. “And I’m sure you have another fine name to follow it?”

Finn drew himself up. “I do,” he answered. Iolo waited, but when nothing further came, he chuckled lowly.

“I see. You realize, of course, that a brief examination of our invitations will reveal all to me.”

“Perhaps. I am here under my father’s aegis, so I wish you luck,” Finn said, and Iolo laughed brightly.

“Clever, clever. Well, I shan’t press the issue; nothing is so irksome as solving a mystery,” Iolo mentioned lightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Only that it is far better to be a part of a mystery than to end one,” Iolo stated before taking another sip of his wine.

“I can see why Bastian likes you,” Finn declared, and he was graced with a genuine grin from the prince.

“Now that is quite the compliment.”

“Brother mine, won’t you introduce me to—um,” Poe broke off dazed as the man who had managed to engage his social butterfly of a brother in conversation for more than a minute turned to him. Poe swallowed drily and stared at the man’s rich, smooth skin and intelligent eyes, which were studying Poe intently in return. Looking away from the frank gaze trained on him, Poe dropped his eyes and blurted out in surprise, “That’s my jacket.”

Finn froze, blood rushing from his face, but Iolo said simply, “No, you’re mistaken.”

“No, I--,” Poe started, but his brother shook his head firmly. “I—yes, I see now. My apologies, but I have one very like it. It does not suit me nearly as well.”

Iolo nodded approvingly with an encouraging smile, but the object of the compliment continued to look withdrawn. “If you’ll excuse me, your highnesses, there’s someone I must--,”

“Yes, of course,” Iolo interrupted smoothly with a searching look at his brother. “I’m certain I can convey that message for you. Finn, may I present my brother, Poe. Poe, this is Finn, and don’t bother asking for more genealogy than that for you won’t get it.”

“I beg your pardon,” Poe asked, but Iolo simply shrugged with an unconcerned simper while Finn continued to look uncomfortable at the entire situation, and Poe found he didn’t like that. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Finn. Did you travel far to be here?”

Finn cracked a smile at that, one of private amusement, and replied, “In some ways, no, and in others, yes.”

“I must say, the riddles are exceptional,” Iolo exclaimed, toasting Finn with his glass before taking another small sip. “Poe, do you think we ought to employ a more aloof air like Finn? We seem rather commonplace by comparison.”

“Please,” Finn rolled his eyes and downed his sparkling wine in one gulp, much to the amusement to the two princes. “As if anyone could take the shine out of you.”

“Should I be cruel and ask which one of us he meant,” Poe asked his brother teasingly. Finn’s jaw dropped slightly, and Iolo came to his rescue, more or less.

“No, because I’m certain my feelings will be hurt,” Iolo said easily, and it was Poe’s turn to look surprised. 

“I never--,” Finn started, but broke off when a young woman in a pale-yellow gown brushed by him, close enough for her skirts to cover his shoes. She sent a demure smile in Iolo’s direction, who replied with an incline of his head before looking over the woman’s shoulder to the hovering chaperone.

“A rose for a vision,” Iolo said gallantly, and the woman in yellow giggled, holding out her hand obligingly. Iolo, however, carefully leaned around her to offer the sugar rose in his gloved hand to the older observing woman. The chaperone let out a small giggle, rather girlish, and took the sugar work, while the young woman made a show of taking a glass of wine with her outstretched hand and flouncing away, chaperone on her heels.

“You are incorrigible,” Poe mentioned, and Iolo grinned. “My brother, you see, has a reputation to maintain which requires him to flirt with every mother and chaperone here tonight.”

“The burdens we bear,” Iolo commented lightly as Finn turned to blink at him. “But a burden I should be returning to.”

“Yes, of course,” Finn agreed instantly, holding out his hand. “It was a pleasure to speak with you. I believe you can consider your favor fulfilled.”

“Yes, but perhaps you can do one for me,” Iolo said with a pointedly wicked smile at his elder brother.

“Lo,” Poe warned lowly, but his brother went on easily,

“My brother, you see, would like to step outside. If you were to ask him to join you in a turn of the gardens, he would be eternally grateful for the excuse to enjoy some fresh air and good company.”

Poe grimaced at his brother’s clumsy attempt, but Finn snorted in amusement before turning to the elder prince and asking, “Your highness, would you like to show me the grounds?”

“Yes,” Poe replied instantly, almost surprising himself, and Iolo smirked, an inkling of a notion forming in his mind as he watched his brother gesture for Finn to go first.

“I feel I should apologize for my brother foisting me on you,” Poe stated as they emerged into the cool autumn air, the trimmed garden illuminated by small round candlelit lanterns placed along the paths and in the trees.

“On the contrary, I’m afraid I was the one being foisted,” Finn sighed, his hands sliding into his close-fitted trouser pockets, a show of ease that Poe noted. “Your brother is under the misapprehension he is to mind me tonight.”

“That I find very unlikely,” Poe said, gently guiding Finn down the path that passed along the pond. “My brother does not bestir himself lightly. In fact, besides his family I can only think of one person who is able to influence Iolo’s actions in any way.”

Finn smiled at that, much to Poe’s curiosity, and said, “Well, that is interesting.”

Iolo, meanwhile, couldn’t remember a ball in which he had been more engaged. He was sure to keep himself by the windows as he made his rounds of the guests, carefully turning many a guest’s eyes from the amicable, well-suited pair making their languid way through the gardens. Far from begrudging his brother the opportunity to escape the constant, hungry scrutiny of their guests, Iolo was positive he hadn’t seen Poe smile more in the past few weeks than he had in the five minutes with Finn. Anyway, this was meant to be _Poe’s_ party; he had every right to enjoy it.

“Lady Frotler, may I say you look even lovelier than I remember,” Iolo smiled, bringing the countess’s gloved thin hand to his lips. “It has been too long.”

“Your highness is too kind,” Lady Frotler replied with restrained smile. “And you remember my little Cecilia?”

“Yes, of course,” Iolo said agreeably, not recalling ever clapping eyes on the short brunette in white who was shoved forward by her mother. Cecilia looked terrified as she executed a shaky curtsey, and Iolo couldn’t allow that. “I do hope you enjoy yourself,” he comforted, taking the girl’s offered hand between both of his. “I strongly recommend the sugar flowers, and the small wildflower cakes are exquisite.”

“Is your brother as fond of sweets as yourself,” Lady Frotler asked pointedly, drowning out whatever her daughter’s response was.

“Why, I believe he’s partial to the iced—pardon me, sir, but the gardens are temporarily inaccessible,” Iolo stated, taking a step backwards to block the path of a determined looking man, dressed crisply in burgundy with a sash of a dukedom conspicuously across his chest.

“I thought I might step out for some fresh air,” the duke—Horace, if Iolo wasn’t mistaken—said blandly.

“Indeed, it is stuffy in here, is it not,” Iolo answered with a wide smile. “It is such a shame we’ve had some ill-timed flooding. The grounds are quite drowned.”

“They look alright to me,” the duke retorted haughtily, puffing out his chest, and Iolo fought to keep the fixed smile on his face.

“Isn’t it odd how appearances can be deceiving? But never mind, we will throw open the windows. We won’t want to have any fainting on such a night. Have you tried the wine? I find a few sips does wonders for the head,” Iolo improvised as he firmly turned the duke towards the refreshments. To the discreetly hovering footman, he muttered, “Open a few windows but do not let anyone out.”

“I’m sure I’m mistaken,” Lady Frotler said loudly, drawing Iolo’s attention back to her, his smile no less bright, “but I could have sworn I saw your brother leave for the gardens not half an hour ago.”

“No doubt Poe wished to assess the damages for himself. He was much distressed to learn the paths had become a swamp,” Iolo lied smoothly, wishing he had something stronger than bubbly wine in his hand.

“Your highness, the king requests your presence,” Sir Wexley informed Iolo with a mischievous little smile. Iolo gulped but nodded.

“Of course. Thank you. My lady, may I present Sir Wexley? Snap, Miss Cecilia was mentioning she would like a sugar flower.”

“Then by all means, allow me to escort you—both,” Snap announced cheerfully, offering his arm for Cecilia and catching her mother around the waist as she made for the windows, hastily being covered by an industrious fleet of footmen. Lady Frotler shot a decidedly frosty look at Iolo, who merely smiled and bowed his head in reply before turning away and making his way to the elevated marble dais. 

The king for all appearances was engaged in a loud exchange of civilities with the elderly Lord Ackpor, who had his large ear trumpet nearly against Kes’s lips. Iolo carefully took a little golden cake from a passing tray and paused at the foot of the platform, waiting for the signal.

“I _said_ it…is…good…to…see…you,” Kes bellowed, and Iolo turned his head to the side to hide his laughter.

“Well, the crops, you know,” Lord Ackpor twittered back, and Kes subtly nodded to another of the guards stationed on either of the dais. Knight Jess stepped up and gently helped the nearly one hundred-year-old baron away, and Kes turned his attention to his younger son, who’s shoulders were shaking tellingly.

“Iolo,” Kes said lowly, and the youngest prince straightened and climbed up the platform, moving to stand next to the throne.

“Father, are you enjoying yourself? Have you tried one of these cakes—they are positively delectable. I believe the secret is in the berry cordial that--,”

“Yes, very convincing, my dear,” Kes interrupted sternly, although he did take the offered dessert as Iolo dropped his head in defeat. “Do we know who your brother disappeared with into our devastated gardens?”

“Finn,” Iolo answered quietly.

Kes raised one of his eyebrows. “And who is Finn?”

“Oh well, a son of one of our nobles. I didn’t catch the lineage, but he certainly had an invitation,” Iolo informed his father smoothly. “He’s very well-spoken. Wonderful form of address without seeming insipid. Naturally Poe wished to know him better.”

“I see,” the king nodded, taking a small bite of the cake as he mused. “Our guests are beginning to grow restless, I understand.”

Iolo nodded, considering. “We could open the dancing.”

“Ah, but we need the man of honor for the first dance,” Kes reminded Iolo, who heaved a sigh and glanced towards the covered windows, where a few knights had joined the footmen’s efforts to keep the guests inside.

“I’ll—I will see what I can do,” Iolo said hesitantly, and the king reached out to tap his son’s wrist sympathetically. “You should have seen him, Father. Poe was enjoying himself, and you know how he hates to be gawked at.”

“Yes, but he will appreciate the awkward position he has put us in. Particularly you, who, despite your best efforts, cannot trap three hundred people in the ballroom for the next five hours,” Kes pointed out, before looking down at the half-eaten cake in his hand. “This is indeed exceptional.”

“If only we had a distraction,” Iolo mumbled to himself, but his father quickly put a halt to the course of thought with a firm,

“This is not the time for one of your plots, Iolo.”

Iolo’s lips twitched up at that. “Very well. Will there be any comment if I leave for a few moments to fetch my brother?”

“Certainly not, for I will make a very long speech,” Kes announced, rising to his feet. The master of ceremony thumped his staff loudly to gain the attention of the guests and Iolo carefully crept off the back of the dais as his father cleared his throat. “My lords and ladies,” the king began as Iolo darted for the servants’ entrance.

The objects of the curiosity meandered unaware within their amicable bubble.

“—how there wasn’t a diplomatic incident, I’ll never know,” Poe rolled his eyes in self-deprecation, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “But how in the world I was to know the Queen of Naboo bred rabbits as pets and not as food?”

“That’s nothing,” Finn dismissed with a light laugh, kicking at the gravel of the path they were following around a duck pond. “When I was ten, my father and I were in Coruscant--,”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who has been there,” Poe interrupted in surprise, and Finn shot him a knowing, sly smile.

“Or no one who will own to it?” Finn’s smile widened as Poe threw back his head, laughing heartily. “Well, it’s not nearly as deprived as they say…at least not the parts I was in.”

“You were only ten,” Poe pointed out, nudging his shoulder against Finn’s comradely. “I don’t think you would have been brought anywhere too—shall we say—destitute.”

“I see you haven’t had the privilege of meeting my father,” Finn countered drily, drawing another bright laugh from the prince. “Be that as it may, I interrupted a rather intense black-market arrangement while I was looking for this manuscript shop my father sent me in search of--,”

“Your father let you wander through Coruscant alone as a child,” Poe asked, aghast.

“If you knew him, you wouldn’t be surprised at all,” Finn shrugged. “Anyway, all’s well that ends well because I ended not being killed or even kidnapped for very long and the manuscript shop was quite interesting—and right next door, which was very frustrating.”

Poe paused, gawking in shock, and Finn continued down the path, thinking that it was nice to talk to someone who understood his references and had stories to contribute—and then instantly felt guilty as the image of Bastian sitting on his desk crossed his mind. It wasn’t Bastian’s fault he had never been further than the edge of town or read anything more interesting than a list. Still, it had been years since Finn had spoken more than commonplace and civil conversations with anyone.

“You look lost in thought,” Poe mentioned, falling into step beside him again. “Something on your mind?”

“I was merely thinking that if you intend to take every young man and woman for a stroll, you will need to choose a shorter path,” Finn replied teasingly, and Poe glanced at him out of the corner of his eye with a decided twinkle.

“Then it’s just as well I have no such intention.”

“It will crush many hopes unnecessarily,” Finn continued, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Some will say you are showing an indecent degree of favor to some unknown.”

“No one with any sense of decency would dare to say so to my face,” Poe responded, venturing to lean a little and bump their shoulders together again, this time a little more seriously. “Does that bother you?”

“Oh, I’ll never see any of you again after tonight,” Finn answered carelessly, missing the sudden frown that appeared on the prince’s face. “I’ve decided to treat all of this as rather realistic dream.”

“Why do you think you won’t see me—us—again,” Poe asked, voice slightly strained.

“This was always meant to be a one-night engagement,” Finn said, noticing the sudden restraint on the part of his conversation partner and slowed to a halt. “I’m sorry—is something wrong?”

“No,” Poe said instantly, and then quickly added, “yes—well, I don’t know. Haven’t you enjoyed yourself so far this evening?”

“Yes, very much. A great deal more than I thought I would when I told—when I accepted the invitation,” Finn stammered, but Poe didn’t catch the slip.

“Then why do you seem set on never repeating it?”

Finn blinked, bewildered. “That—that’s just how it is, your highness.”

“Oh, don’t start with the decorum now,” Poe dismissed with a scowl. “For heaven’s sake, I’ve only known you for an hour and I know you don’t care a bit for titles and status.”

Finn’s lips quaked up at the truth of the prince’s words. “But I understand that there are times and places where such things should be respected.”

“Well this isn’t one of them,” Poe retorted firmly, his scowl deepening. “Tell me honestly, what reason could there possibly be for you to vanish after tonight?”

“There are—complicating circumstances.”

“Such as why you refuse to mention where you live or your full name,” Poe asked drily, moving to stand in front of Finn as the man in violet turned his head in frustration. “Or perhaps why I’ve never seen you at court before even though every noble is to be presented when they turn eighteen.”

“Yes,” Finn allowed through clenched teeth. “It may have something to do with that.”

Poe let out a heavy sigh, his hand going for his hair in exasperation. “Then it sounds like a ridiculous reason and not one worth this kind of fidelity on your part.”

“But to me, it’s not ridiculous at all,” Finn mumbled, his shoulders slumping, and all the fight left Poe in a huffed exhale.

“I can’t pretend I understand, because you’ve given me nothing to grasp,” Poe started haltingly, and Finn felt a strange urge to reach out and comfort the man before him, “but I won’t press you, if it means so much to you.”

“Thank you, your—Poe,” Finn corrected, and the prince’s raised his head to give Finn a searching look. “But don’t think for a moment that—this has nothing to do with, with you or anyone I’ve met tonight. This has been something I’ve known for years and have accepted long ago.”

Poe smiled grimly. “I suppose that’s some small comfort.”

“And,” Finn went on, steeling his courage before reaching out and touching Poe’s hand, which grasped his instantly, “we still have half a pond to circumnavigate.”

“We don’t need to return any time soon,” Poe informed Finn eagerly, taking a small step closer. “We could go—somewhere. We could talk longer and--,”

“Poe—Poe!”

“Your sense of timing is impeccable,” Poe stated as his brother rounded the far edge of the pond at a sprint. “Finn and I were having a private conversation.”

“And have been doing so for the better part of an hour,” Iolo panted, skidding to a halt beside the pair, his blond hair falling into his eyes as he caught his breath, hands on his knees. “And I’ve done my best to give you privacy—the gardens are flooded by the way, if anyone should ask.”

“I thought it was odd no one had come by,” Finn said as Poe reached out and gave his brother’s shoulder a fond, thankful squeeze.

“Yes, but then Father noticed and—and he doesn’t _mind_ but we have about three hundred people trapped in the ballroom and short of causing some kind of scandal I don’t know how to keep them away,” Iolo explained in a rush. Finn whistled low, impressed, while Poe drew his younger brother in for a quick hug.

“Thank you, Lo,” Poe whispered so only the intended could hear him. “I’d do the same for you, any day.”

“I don’t know when you’ll get the chance,” Iolo murmured back, returning the embrace before stepping back, his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Father says you need to have the first dance, but after that you should be able to sneak away.”

Poe let out a long, put-upon groan, and Finn laughed at the show of reluctance. “Go on,” he urged, pressing his fingers against the back of Poe’s hand in his before letting go. “You can’t let your little brother ruin his reputation for you.”

“He’d ruin it eventually,” Poe grumbled while Iolo shot Finn a friendly smile and said,

“That’s very good of you. I wouldn’t mind, really, but I don’t have any ideas except challenging Horace to a duel because I don’t like his face or eloping with ‘little Cecilia’ to save her from her dragon of a mother.”

“ _What_?!”

“No, he’s right,” Poe said, nodding sagely. “Horace has a condescending face. He’s impossible to look at. But no eloping on my watch,” he told Iolo sternly, who shrugged easily.

“Just as well. We wouldn’t suit; I think she’s scared of me. But never mind, we really do need to get back because Father is giving a speech and he’s going to run out of things to say soon.”

“My poor, dutiful family,” Poe drawled, looping an arm around Iolo’s neck. “You take such good care of me.”

“You look positively ungrateful, leaving them to cover for you,” Finn joked, falling into step beside the brothers as they made their way back to the castle. Finn shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as Poe and Iolo nettled each other good-naturedly, Iolo driving his elbow into Poe’s stomach while Poe played at choking Iolo, laughing.

“Finn, do you dance,” Iolo asked abruptly, and Poe immediately turned to Finn with hopeful smile.

Finn remembered he and Bastian at last year’s harvest festival, spinning each other and giggling and bumping into everyone as the town band played in the square and the bonfire burned bright. “I never learned,” he answered, feeling a bit ashamed of the fact at the flash of disappointment that crossed Poe’s face.

“I—we could teach you,” Poe offered. Iolo and Finn exchanged a quick look, Iolo grimacing in sympathy.

“We can do that another time, but Father can’t speak forever. Besides, it’s not as if I’m terrible.”

“No, but you do have a habit of making faces at me,” Poe said drily, and Finn chuckled at the image of the two princes dancing while attempting to make each other laugh. “Just wait until you we see him,” Poe threatened, jerking his head at Iolo, who had gone up the stairs to the ballroom balcony ahead of them.

“I can hardly wait,” Finn poked, letting the elder prince take his hands. “This was lovely, wasn’t it?”

“It was, without a doubt, the best-spent evening I’ve ever had,” Poe stated with heavy honesty. Finn blinked and swallowed drily.

“Same for me, although that’s saying much less than I’d like,” Finn replied with a shaky smile.

Poe returned the smile with an unsteady one of his own. “Just one dance and then we’ll slip away. There are hidden doors—we won’t have any trouble.”

Finn nodded, thinking of the one that Bastian had led him through earlier that evening. “You’re expected,” he reminded the prince, looking pointedly at Iolo, waiting for them by the curtained windows.

Poe bowed his head for a moment before drawing himself up with a determined look. He nodded and pivoted, offering his arm to Finn, who accepted although his heart wasn’t in it. They moved to join Iolo, who linked his arm through Poe’s other.

“Shall we?”

“We shall,” Finn agreed. Iolo let out a sharp whistle through his front teeth and the curtains parted as if by magic.

And the kingdom’s noblest families turned to watch as Prince Poe reentered the ballroom with his brother on one side and the mystery man in purple on the other.

Two ladies dropped their sugar butterflies in shock.

_**Five Hours Later**_

“I can’t believe he left!”

“Well, it sounds like he told you he was going to,” Iolo replied blandly, although he shared his brother’s gloom as Poe paced. Iolo shed his velvet coat, setting it on the bench at the end of his bed before hopping up on his high mattress and watching his brother take another turn of the bedroom. “I didn’t know he was likely to vanish! Why didn’t you tell me—we could’ve had someone watch him.”

“We aren’t taking hostages, Lo,” Poe growled, kicking out at a leg of his brother’s desk in frustration as he passed. “Besides I didn’t think—I thought he’d stay—well, he didn’t say he would disappear as soon as I left his side!”

“And he didn’t tell you _anything_? Nothing we can go on,” Iolo pressed, tucking his legs under him as his brother marched by him again. “There must be something.”

“Nothing,” Poe spat out, griping his hair in frustration. “His father is strange, he’s traveled, he’s well-read, he’s beautiful--,”

“What was that?”

“--but _nothing_ that will help me find him,” Poe groaned, collapsing into Iolo’s desk chair, covering his eyes with his hand. Iolo frowned tightly at his brother, who had had to force a smile for the rest of the ball once he’d discovered that, as his and Iolo’s dance drew to a close, Finn was gone. “What about you,” Poe asked after a long, brooding pause. “Did he say anything to you before I joined you?”

Iolo sighed and shook his head. “Nothing at all besides—wait,” he broke off, eyes going wide. “Why didn’t I think of it _before_?”

“Think of what,” Poe asked tiredly as his younger brother jumped to his feet and bounding for the door. “Where are you--,”

“Wait right here! Don’t move!”

Iolo pulled the bedroom door open and sprinted down the hallway. The door to his father’s chambers opened as he thundered past, and Kes watched his youngest race by, skidding to a halt at the end of the hallway, pressing against the wall and sliding the panel aside, taking off down the revealed stairs. Kes looked back down the hall, meeting his eldest’s eye, who shrugged in incomprehension.

Bastian, meanwhile, was dragging himself to bed, the weeks of late nights and constant work paying their price on him finally. He yawned wide, rubbing a fist against his dry eyes, and stumbled down the narrow hall to his small room, knocking against the walls as he swayed with exhaustion.

He hadn’t bothered with a candle, knowing he was too tired to do more than fall into bed, so when a shadow moved from his room to the darkened hallway, he let out a cry.

“There you are,” came a disembodied voice, and Bastian stumbled backwards, eyes wide with fear. “Come here; you’ve got some explaining to do, bug.”

“Lo,” Bastian asked as the shadow bore down on him, scooped him up, and tossed him over its shoulder. “Lo, what--?”

“Your sugar tower was magnificent—has anyone told you that,” Iolo asked as he carried Bastian up the servant stairs. Bastian went limp over the prince’s shoulder, closing his eyes and letting his head knock against Iolo’s back as he was carried.

“Cook said it was conspicuous,” the fifteen-year-old mumbled, breathing deepening as his hands held onto Iolo’s loose shirt.

“That’s not exactly a compliment,” Iolo censored, tightening his grip around the back of Bastian’s legs as he felt the younger teenager’s body go lax. “No sleeping yet, bug.”

“I’ve never been more tired in my life,” Bastian replied into Iolo’s shirt, and the prince’s shoulders twitched at the strange feeling of lips against the small of his back.

“I don’t doubt it—between all the cooking and decorating _and_ plots involving mysterious men in Poe’s clothing--,”

“You noticed,” Bastian asked, tensing as Iolo continued around a bend in the stairs.

“Of course,” Iolo replied, unconcerned and rubbing his palm along Bastian’s calf soothingly. “I think you may need a lesson in the meaning of ‘borrow,’” he continued as they emerged into the private living quarters of the royal family.

“I didn’t think anyone would know,” Bastian answered, turning to rest his cheek against Iolo’s back and missing the disconcerted look from the king as his son marched past with the baking apprentice over his shoulder. Iolo nodded to his father with a nonchalant grin, and Kes found himself responding with a nod of his own as he watched the unusual pair continue down the hall.

“No,” Poe stated flatly, blocking the doorway to Iolo’s bedroom, arms akimbo. “No, I’m drawing the line at whatever you’re planning to do with the kitchen bug in your room.”

“What are you talking about,” Iolo asked, eyes wide and unassuming as Bastian let out an incoherent sighed grumble. “He knows Finn.”

Poe’s jaw dropped, and Iolo took the moment’s distraction to brush past his brother, crossing over and dropping Bastian on his bed.

“Oh, my stars,” Bastian moaned, rolling onto his stomach and nuzzling his face against the blankets. “It’s like a cloud.”

“You—you know Finn,” Poe demanded, shutting the door before rushing to the bed and hauling Bastian up by the collar of his tunic. “ _How_?!”

Bastian blinked blurrily at the heir of the kingdom and merely said, “I have a friend named Finn.”

Poe released Bastian’s collar and the fifteen-year-old collapsed back onto the mattress with a satisfied hum. “Did you drug him,” Poe asked with mild concern as the two princes watched Bastian pet the feathered comforter.

“Don’t be stupid,” Iolo snapped with a scowl. “He’s just exhausted, aren’t you, bug,” he continued in a gentler tone as he slipped his hands under Bastian’s arms and pulled his up, maneuvering the young teenager up the bed until he was settled upright against the pillows. “There now, why don’t you tell us a bit about your friend Finn.”

“They’re like marshmallows,” Bastian murmured in wonder as he hugged one of the pillows to his chest. Iolo and Poe exchanged a quick look, but then Bastian blinked his eyes wide and said, “Finn is great.”

“Yes, I think Poe agrees with you on that score,” Iolo replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed by Bastian’s legs. “How did you meet him?”

“I was running away,” Bastian answered promptly.

“Like hell you were!”

“Ignore him,” Poe dismissed his brother’s exclamation, sitting down on Bastian’s other side as Iolo fumed. “Go on.”

Bastian frowned, twisting the corner of the pillow in his lap between his fingers. “It was before I met you,” he told Iolo. “I came back.”

“Yes, yes, that’s very sweet,” Poe drawled as Iolo and Bastian shared smiles. “Returning to Finn. Did you meet him in town? Is he a tradesman—he said he traveled quite a bit.”

“He’s not a tradesman,” Bastian retorted in mild disgust, slumping further into the mound of pillows. “I met him on his estate, and he was really nice and told me if I wasn’t happy here after a week, he’d take me in. But then I met Iolo and I stayed.”

“His estate? Stars, how far did you get,” Iolo asked aghast, but Poe let out a deep exhale and bowed his head with a rueful smile.

“He didn’t get very far at all.”

“There’s no estate within walking distance except the abandoned Skywalker property—oh dear,” Iolo broke off with a wince to his brother, who nodded as Bastian’s eyes fluttered shut on their own fruition. “Well, that is a turn of events.”

“It makes sense,” Poe said quietly as the fifteen-year-old’s breathing began to slow and deepen. “That’s why we’d never seen him before…”

“But wait—I met Bastian when he was five; that’s ten years ago,” Iolo mused aloud, absentmindedly loosening the dozing teenager’s hair tie and freeing his wiry curls. “How could a Skywalker possibly have been living at our doorstep for so long without us hearing about it?”

“I imagine by hiding his identity, just like he did tonight—what are you doing,” Poe asked, momentarily distracted by his brother carding his fingers through Bastian’s hair.

“Well, he’s falling asleep,” Iolo offered for explanation with a shrug.

“Not here he’s not,” Poe retorted, reaching for the slumbering teenager and getting the back of his hand slapped in retaliation. “What, you let him sleep in your bed now?”

“Leave him alone; I’ll carry him down later.”

“No, you won’t. For heaven’s sake, what exactly do you think it’ll look like if you’re seen carrying a sleeping servant out of your quarters,” Poe hissed.

“Everyone knows--,”

“Lo, you’re not a child anymore, and, despite appearances, neither is Bastian. You have to _think_ ,” Poe emphasized firmly, leaning towards his brother and jostling the mattress enough to rouse the youngest of the bed’s occupants.

“Waz goin-on?”

“Nothing,” Iolo stated, eyes drilling into his brother’s. “Nothing at all.”

“Still talkin’ ‘bout Finn,” Bastian managed around a wide yawn, stretching his arms above his head and then dropping his hands to his hair. “Damn, lost another tie,” he mumbled to himself.

“Yes, about Finn,” Poe redirected, dropping his gaze to Bastian as he sat up and rubbed his fists against his eyes. “Does he ever leave his estate?”

“Market Day,” Bastian answered before covering his mouth to hide another yawn. “Always goes himself. Lets me barter for him.”

“Market day,” Poe repeated, picturing the scene and patting Bastian on the head mindlessly. “Thank you, Bastian; you’ve been very helpful.”

“Finn’s not in trouble about the coat, right,” Bastian asked Iolo, who smiled softly back and shook his head. “Good, because he didn’t know and--,”

“And it really doesn’t matter anyway,” Iolo cut in briskly, getting to his feet. “You should be getting back now, or I fear a maid will find you passed out on a stairwell somewhere.”

“Might happen anyway,” Bastian grumbled, giving the pillow hugged to his chest a final stroke before setting it aside and pushing himself to the edge of the tall bed, sliding to his feet. “G’night.”

“Sweet dreams, bug. Wait, take these,” Iolo said, tossing two wide pillows at Bastian as the younger teenager turned around, both hitting him in his face as he blinked, confused. “Go on—I don’t need six.”

“Really,” Bastian asked skeptically as he bent down to retrieve them. “And no one will mind?”

“Who’s there to mind? I’m giving them to you, aren’t I? It’s not as though I’m handing over the crown jewels,” Iolo added with a note of challenge in his voice as he shot a glare at Poe. Noticing the exchange, Bastian glanced over at the elder prince and Poe found himself the subject of twice the scrutiny.

“If nothing else, consider them our thanks for your assistance tonight,” Poe said finally, grimacing slightly at how that statement sounded. The darkly annoyed look cast his way by his brother signaled to Poe he wasn’t the only one who noticed, but Bastian seemed satisfied as he stuffed a pillow under each arm with a sleepy, content smiled. The baking apprentice shuffled over to the door, and for some reason Poe couldn’t explain, the heir found himself following and opening the door for Bastian, and then taking a quick step back in surprise as he met his father’s gaze.

The king, who had stood in the doorway of his chambers staring at the closed door of his youngest’s for far too long, had drawn his robe around him and marched down the hall to seek an explanation. But the words died on his tongue as he looked between Poe and the baking apprentice. Kes, not usually one to be at a loss for words, blinked at his son, but Bastian was the one to speak.

“Good night, your majesty.”

“Thank you,” Kes replied, bewildered. “I hope you sleep well,” he added for want of something to say.

“I will, especially with these,” Bastian said brightly, showing off his new possessions to the king of the realm. “They’re my payment for tonight.”

The king’s eyes bulged alarmingly, and Poe hastily got a hand across Bastian’s back and shoved lightly as Iolo’s laughter rang out. “Yes, that’s quite enough, thank you. Go to sleep; you’ve ceased to make sense.”

Bastian shrugged, undisturbed, and offered a short, not quite ceremonial bow to the king before he slouched into the hallway, making for the servant’s door.

“Right, well, it’s been a long night for all of us,” Poe said hastily, not meeting his father’s censorious look. “I think we all need a good night’s sleep, so I bid you all sweet dreams,” he finished regally before flopping face-down on the bed.

“This is my room,” Iolo pointed out mildly.

“I’ve commandeered it. Now leave me in peace,” Poe dismissed with a flap of his hand, adding a groan as the mattress dipped to his left and he heard his brother say,

“Don’t hog the blankets and take off your shoes first.”

_**One Week Later**_

“I must say,” Kes began lightly, “I never thought I’d see the day you would be in the library willingly.”

“There is a first time for everything,” Poe answered, not looking up from the large map spread open on the long table before him. The king nodded slowly, unobserved, as he approached his eldest, stopping beside him and glancing down.

“Any reason for your sudden interest in the civil war,” Kes asked neutrally, running a finger along the red dotted line cutting through the southwestern corner of the realm.

Poe shrugged with one shoulder, drumming his fingers against the edge of the tabletop. “I was thinking more about how it ended,” he admitted, looking over at his father.

“I see. The Skywalkers have a reputation for unpredictability,” Kes mentioned with a small smile.

Poe snorted and mumbled to himself, “I believe it.” The king hummed in question and his eldest said louder, “Why was Luke Skywalker banished, when he was the one who convinced his father to surrender?”

“It was Luke’s idea.”

“What?”

Kes chuckled, moving away from the map and lowering himself into an armchair, folding his fingers together. “He believed—and I did not disagree—that it may be difficult for some in the realm to reunite while a Skywalker lived on our doorstep.”

Poe frowned tightly, brow creasing. “Do you think that would still hold true? If Skywalker returned, how would the people react?”

“I could not hazard a guess,” the king answered mildly, his eyes scrutinizing his heir’s profile as Poe continued to scowl. “I, for my part, would be glad to welcome him.”

At that, Poe’s gaze snapped up, meeting his father’s calm eyes. “Truly,” Poe asked with a slight hitch.

Kes blinked, confused, at the searching expression trained on him. “Of course. In fact, had I any notion where Lord Skywalker currently resides, I should invite him personally--,” the king broke off with a quick, surprised inhale as his eldest pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” Poe breathed into Kes’s ear before releasing him. “I need to—if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, beaming, as he backed towards the library’s doors. “Thank you so much,” Poe added once more before turning on his heel and hurrying from the room, leaving the bewildered king to wonder what had gotten into his son.

Poe descended the servants’ stairs two at a time, barging into the smokey kitchens without ceremony and ignoring the flurry of rushed bows and curtseys as he made his way to the alcove recessed beside the butler’s pantry, pushing the unlocked door open.

“Bastian, I—what are you doing,” Poe blurted out, drawing up short at the sight of the baker’s apprentice standing barefoot on top of the long wooden table.

“I’m smacking dough,” Bastian replied blasé as he bent down to gather a ball of pale dough into his hands. “It’s the only way I can do it since I’m still too short for this table,” he added with a huff, bringing the dough over his head and flinging it down, where it hit the table with a thwack.

Poe blinked. “I see,” he accepted after a moment’s thought. “You could request a shorter workbench.”

Bastian shrugged. “I could but I won’t get one. Are you looking for Lo?”

Thus reminded, Poe shook his head. “No, I am looking for you.” Bastian cocked his head to the side, slipping his hands into the pockets of his apron. “I need you to _borrow_ some servant’s clothing for me.” Bastian’s eyebrows shot up, but Poe continued before he could be interrupted, “I will be accompanying you to Market Day, and I will need to be inconspicuous, understood?”

“Yes,” Bastian drew out, his eyes darting to the left, “but--,”

“No, that is all,” Poe said firmly, although the effect was lessened as the eldest prince’s lips twitched into a smile at Bastian’s exaggerated display of locking his lips. “Thank you. I will meet you at the merchant’s gate at—say—midday?”

“I usually leave right after breakfast is served,” Bastian offered. “All the good stuff will be gone by midday.”

“Very well, I will meet you then. You can arrange to have the clothing delivered to me the night before; you seem to know how to sneak into my chambers unobserved,” Poe added drily.

Bastian smirked. “I think I can do that.”

Poe hummed. “Yes, I’m certain you can. Thank you—and I need hardly say that you do not need to share this information with any of your acquaintances.”

“No one would believe me if I did,” Bastian replied frankly with wide eyes. “But Lo--,”

“We can leave my brother out of this, thank you,” Poe said primly before turning and meandering back through the kitchens at a more sedated pace than he arrived.

“How strange is that,” Bastian asked as the door to his workroom was slowly shut to reveal the younger prince leaning casually against the stone wall, hand pressed flat to the door. “Both you and Poe wanting to go Market Day all of the sudden. You never seemed interested before.”

“We move in mysterious ways, bug,” Iolo answered, grinning. “This should be a very interesting outing.”

“Yeah,” Bastian allowed, frowning slightly as he stooped to pick up the dough ball again. “I’m not going to be in trouble for this, am I? I mean, if both of you ordered me to steal for you, it’s not my fault, is it?”

“Not at all,” Iolo assured. “In fact, we as good as coerced you. There was no way to refuse us.”

Bastian snorted, his eyes glinting mischievously. “You’re a pair of tyrants. I never stood a chance.”

“Exactly,” Iolo nodded, satisfied. “This will be fun. I will meet you at your room that morning. Oh, one more thing, Bas.”

“Yeah?”

“Do try to make sure I look better than Poe.”

Bastian laughed, throwing the dough down. “Well, I’ll try, but no promises.”

“Lying little bug,” Iolo mumbled affectionately as he strolled away.

_**Four Days Later**_

“I can’t believe you,” Poe hissed between his clenched teeth.

“Can’t you? I can; I can believe me quite well,” Iolo quipped back, keeping his voice low as he matched his brother’s wide strides, following Bastian down the merchant’s road that snaked to the town below the castle’s walls.

“I do _not_ need a chaperone,” the elder prince snapped, eyes darting to the back of the baker’s apprentice, noting appreciatively that Bastian was not paying the princes any mind.

“Oh, I know that,” Iolo dismissed with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I’m here to help you. Finn did run away from _you_ less than a fortnight ago, remember.”

“He didn’t--,”

“Whereas,” Iolo continued smoothly, “I’m charming and nonthreatening and do not carry the burden of a great position which is enough to scare away any but the most determined fortune hunter.”

“Need I remind you that you are also a prince of the realm,” Poe drawled, wishing his brother’s words did not ring so true.

“Yes, but no one expects anything of me,” Iolo shrugged carelessly. “Which is exactly why--,”

“What do I call you,” Bastian interrupted over his shoulder to the royals speaking softly with their head together.

“I beg your pardon,” Poe blinked as Iolo let out a surprised laugh.

“Well, I can’t go around town calling your ‘Poe’ and ‘Iolo,’” Bastian pointed out, spinning around to walk backwards as the road began to flatten. “People might ask questions, you know?”

“Call us whatever you like,” Poe dismissed, raising his gaze to squint against the bright autumn sunshine as they neared the outskirts. “Where do you meet Finn?”

“There’s a gate a little further down—can I really call you anything?”

“Within reason,” Iolo censored cautiously, adjusting the slightly too large stocking cap to sit higher on his head. “Do we look like commoners?”

Bastian snorted and smirked. “No, but I’m not a miracle worker. Maybe if you didn’t walk like that,” he suggested, tilting his head thoughtfully before facing forward and leading the way along the town’s wall towards the neat fields.

“Walk like what,” Poe asked, frowning down at his feet, covered in thick socks and wooden clogs.

“Like you own everything,” Bastian tossed over his shoulder, missing the taken aback looks sent in reply as he turned back to answer a greeting. Breaking into a sprint and leaving the princes to follow, Bastian waved at the woman who pulled her horse-drawn cart to halt. “Maz! I thought you were traveling west until winter!”

“What, stay away when all I heard about was the mischief you and Finn are making,” the small woman retorted briskly, reaching out and smacking Bastian’s shoulder. “You’re going to put me in an early grave, the pair of you.”

“Ow,” Bastian mumbled petulantly, rubbing his shoulder with a pout. “We haven’t done anything—well,” the baking apprentice amended quickly as Poe and Iolo drew closer, “nothing you would’ve heard about.”

“Oh yes? Then the mysterious handsome stranger at the prince’s ball who hypnotized the heir and vanished into thin air wasn’t your idea,” Maz asked archly, raising a skeptical eyebrow before shifting her gaze over Bastian’s head.

Bastian shifted his weight, shooting a nervous look over his shoulder to Iolo, who smiled benignly back. “I—well, I guess— _maybe_ I might have had something to do with that,” Bastian allowed with a nervous laugh. “But it was Finn’s idea to be mysterious and I didn’t even know he was handsome,” he finished in a rush, eliciting a bright shout of laughter behind him.

Maz nodded sagely. “I suppose I should have warned you about that. Both of you have the alarming tendency to be attractive at inconvenient times.” 

“We should have come to town sooner,” Iolo whispered in his brother’s ear, voice shaking in glee. “This is delightful.”

“Are people truly speaking of Finn throughout the kingdom,” Poe murmured back, a prick of nervousness piercing his chest.

Iolo hummed, pinching Poe’s wrist gently. “Don’t worry; I’ll do something shocking and everyone will forget all about it.”

“I would prefer if you didn’t,” the elder prince warned.

“And are you going to introduce your new friends,” asked Maz loudly, her large dark eyes trained on the princes, who both plastered on their best polite expressions.

“Oh yeah, my new friends,” Bastian repeated blankly, his shoulders straightening to the occasion. “This is—Eop and…Oloi. They’re visiting from—Naboo and they don’t speak Common. Actually, they’re don’t speak at all.”

Iolo sucked his lips between his teeth, but a snort escaped him, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

Maz’s gaze shifted from Iolo to Poe, standing with his jaw hanging loose. “Well, that seems to be in order,” she declared with a nod. “I’d recommend leading with the muteness in future,” Maz told Bastian with a wink. With a click of her tongue and a flick of the reins, her cart started forward. As she passed, Maz leaned down and told Poe, “Good luck, Eop. Finn may be the making of you.”

Poe’s mouth shut with a snap of teeth, swallowing as trader and cart continued to join the line forming at the gate.

“That went pretty well,” Bastian announced brightly, hands on his hips. “Were you really hypnotized by Finn? I know that’s what the townsfolk are saying but--,”

“Bas, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this,” Iolo interjected smoothly, draping an arm over the baking apprentice’s shoulders and stirring him onward, “but you do not have a knack for lying.”

“Well, you said I could call you anything I wanted,” Bastian protested, twisting his neck around to where the elder prince stood frozen. “You did, remember? And Maz put me on the spot—I didn’t have time to come up with anything _clever_ \--,”

“That was evident,” Poe said, coming back to himself and stepping to catch up. “Where in stars did you get those names from?”

Iolo and Bastian blinked at Poe before exchanging worried looks.

“Brother dear,” Iolo began gently, “Eop is your name backwards.”

“Is that what love does to your mind,” Bastian blurted out, eyes wide.

“Be quiet,” Poe ordered, flushing, while Iolo shook his head.

“Bas, why don’t you run along and meet Finn while I have a word with my brother,” Iolo suggested with a light shove of emphasis.

Bastian took a stumbling step from the push, still staring at Poe, dazed. “You’re really in love with Finn,” he breathed.

“Bastian,” Iolo sighed, casting his eyes skyward, “give us a--,”

“That’s amazing,” Bastian beamed, giddy, before turning on his heel and running off, waving his arms over his head at a distant blur of a figure making its measured way through the plowed field.

“Stars and moon, is he about to tell Finn,” Poe panicked, breath quickening.

“No, no, he does have some discretion,” Iolo assured idly, watching as Bastian reached the low wooden fence, leaning over and gesturing frantically for the approaching figure to hurry. “But tell me honestly, is this more than curiosity? I know Finn fascinates you, but I wasn’t sure it was…”

Poe inhaled deeply as his brother trailed off, waiting. “Lo, I don’t know,” the elder prince answered. “I don’t know what this is.”

Iolo pursed his lips, considering, before pulling his brother into a tight embrace. “You’ll have my support, whatever this turns out to be,” he whispered fiercely into the shell of Poe’s ear. “If I have to fight every noble on the council, I will.”

Poe, confined by the other’s tight grip, patted Iolo’s hips. “Defy the storm,” he murmured, cracking a smile as his brother chuckled, chest trembling against his own.

“Defy the storm,” Iolo echoed, stepping back, his hands on Poe’s shoulder. “Damerons know no other way.”

“Much to others’ dismay, I’ll wager,” Poe joked, swallowing again as he watched Bastian and Finn head towards them, Bastian leading the other by the hand.

Iolo huffed. “Others appreciate it when they are on our side.”

“No doubt,” Poe replied mindlessly, his attention caught entirely.

Finn moved with an easy assurance Poe remembered clearly from their one previous meeting, although the ease seemed magnified as the other man let himself be guided, his free hand in the pocket of worn, loose linen trousers. Finn’s expression was unreadable until his focus fixed on the elder prince, traveled the length of him, and returned to Poe’s eyes with a flash of amusement.

“Bas, are Poe and I destined to spend the rest of our lives wearing each other’s stolen clothing,” Finn inquired, voice carrying over the remaining distance, which was rapidly diminishing at Bastian’s tugging.

“It’s not my fault you two are the same size,” Bastian retorted, grinning widely. “Besides, you wouldn’t mind being destined to spend the rest of your life with--,”

“Yes, I think you’ve helped quite enough,” Finn easily cut in, casting a look of exaggerated exasperation to Poe. “Why don’t you let Poe and I try to muddle through now?”

“A marvelous idea,” Iolo agreed instantly, offering his hand. When Finn took it, Iolo quickly clasped Finn’s between both of his. “Please be patient with my brother; he can be quite stubborn and often acts before thinking but he has the best intentions.”

“Finn knows a thing or two about _stubborn_ ,” Bastian contributed pointedly, unwavering under the stern look trained on him.

“Bas, I believe you have a list,” Finn shot back, equally emphatically, cocking his left brow.

The fifteen-year-old sighed loudly but nodded, taking a roll of parchment from his faded green vest pocket. “Alright, but you didn’t even give me a challenge. I can get you all of this at half these prices in half an hour,” Bastian stated, scanning the short list.

“Iolo happens to be one of the realm’s most promising negotiators,” Poe said, clearing his throat. “Lo, why don’t you help Bastian?”

“I’ll do my humble best,” Iolo acquiesced cheerfully. “I’m not sure how much I can do an unspeaking Naboo--,”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Bastian sniffed, raising his chin. “Just watch and learn,” he finished primly.

“Oh-ho! Is that so,” Iolo laughed. “Lead on, Master Bastian,” he teased, tweaking the lob of Bastian’s ear and accepting the retaliatory elbow jab to his stomach good-naturedly.

“They make quite the pair,” Finn commented as the baking apprentice and younger prince departed, Iolo’s arm over Bastian’s shoulder, Bastian’s hip bumping just below Iolo’s with each step. “Bas told me about his friendship with your brother, but I never truly credited it.”

“Yes, they’re rapidly becoming the talk of the palace,” Poe sighed before shrugging that thought away. “I believe you and I have a few matters to discuss.”

“Now who is playing at decorum,” Finn joked, although the corners of his mouth hardened discernably. “Did Bastian give me away?”

“Not exactly,” Poe answered, jerking his head and, at Finn’s nod, beginning a slow stroll along the town wall, Finn instep with him. “He never disclosed your surname, but I put the pieces together.”

Finn smiled faintly. “He’s been a great friend—my only friend—when times were difficult. It’s strange to say, because he was just a child when we met, but Bas probably saved my life.”

“He said he met you on your estate,” Poe prodded, testing the ground. “Had you been living there long?”

“Only a few months at that point,” Finn replied calmly. “My father had left me at the manor, told me to stay until he returned.” With a bleak, cold smile, Finn met Poe’s questioning gaze. “I’m still here.”

“Has he sent letters or…?”

“Nothing. Not a damn thing,” Finn grumbled, his shoulders drooping in exhale. “I hold out hope, but I honestly don’t know anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Poe offered, floundering.

“Don’t be—there’s no saying; my father may have found an interesting library and lost track of time for the past ten years,” Finn said flippantly. “But at the beginning, I didn’t know what to do. I was ten years old, lived my entire life on the road, never stayed in one place for more than a week at a time. I thought I would go crazy; I thought I would be discovered—I was too scared to venture farther than the rose garden.”

“Did you think the townspeople would hate you for being a Skywalker?”

“I was sure of it,” Finn nodded glumly. “All my life I had been told to be a Skywalker in Yavin was no better than a criminal. No one in Yavin would trust a Skywalker. I thought I would be killed if anyone knew I was here.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Poe snapped angrily. “Not then and not now. Stars, the war was so long ago and anyone with any sense knows that it was your father who brought it to an end.”

“Prejudices run deep,” Finn stated softly. “We can’t expect the people who lost everything in the war to change their opinions of the Skywalker family overnight.”

“It’s been twenty years, Finn,” Poe refuted. 

“It was a terrible war, Poe,” Finn shrugged. “I studied the same histories you did. And I probably heard the same tales too.”

“And do you still believe that you’ll be killed if you leave your garden,” Poe pressed. “Do you think my father or I would expel you from the kingdom for your grandfather’s sins?”

“I am betting my life that you won’t,” Finn said, his eyes serious and his tone flippant. “But no, as time passed, as I ventured further with Bastian’s aid, I began to think that perhaps I could live, in my own little way. I began putting the fields in order and fixing up the manor. I’m not particularly good at sitting and waiting,” he admitted with a rueful smile.

Poe snorted. “I can empathize on that score. But you still refuse to use your full name.”

“Well, there’s no need to be reckless,” Finn rolled his eyes. “I believe my legacy is something of an unspoken known in these parts now.”

“We never heard a word of it at the palace,” Poe said, frowning at Finn’s answering smirk.

“Yes, Bas made sure of that. He’s resourceful in his way and very loyal. I believe his preferred method,” Finn went on, smiling vaguely into the distance, “is to lure a would-be informer with cake and then tell them I am a distant relative of his, left to manage the estate in Skywalker’s place. By the third slice of cake, anyone would believe anything Bas said, trust me on that.”

“Are you telling me that our baking apprentice is manipulating our other servants,” Poe gaped.

“Very efficiently, yes,” Finn agreed cheerfully. “But recently, Bas has been turning his powers against me.”

“Did he bribe you to attend the ball,” Poe asked, trying to understand this new impression of Bastian.

“No, he wore me down for that. It wasn’t difficult; I was curious, and I wanted—well.”

“You wanted what,” Poe prodded, perking up.

Finn exhaled heavily through his nose. “It’s not fair to Bas, but—I wanted to meet new people again. It’s been a long time since I spoken to anyone other than Bas, the manor servants, the tradespeople…”

Poe smiled softly, bumping his shoulder against Finn’s. “There’s nothing unfair in that. I feel I should apologize for keeping you from socializing.”

“Before Iolo found me, I was already planning my escape,” Finn admitted with a grimace. “I appear to have forgotten how to start conversations except with ‘how much does this cost.’”

With a chuckle, Poe said, “You didn’t seem to be having any trouble to me.”

“You’re easy to talk to,” Finn answered unthinkingly, his cheeks warming when his mind caught up with his words. Coughing awkwardly, he added, “You must hear that often enough.”

“Never,” Poe disagreed. “To be honest, most people seem to be incurably flustered or belligerent around me.”

Finn hummed thoughtfully, shifting to his left so that his arm rubbed slightly against the prince’s as they walked. “It can’t be comfortable to be under constant examination,” he commented, meeting Poe’s searching gaze.

“It can’t be comfortable to be constantly dodging notice,” the prince mentioned, snorting when Finn let out a bark of laughter.

“Could we be more opposite,” Finn asked rhetorically, still laughing to himself.

“I think, rather, that we’re two sides of the same coin,” Poe said, plowing on as Finn’s laughs and steps halted abruptly. “Did Bastian warn you I wanted to meet you today?”

Finn stayed still and Poe turned to face him. “No, he didn’t,” Finn said finally, after a pause. “He didn’t need to.”

“Why?”

“If he had told me, it wouldn’t have changed anything, except I would have gotten less sleep last night,” Finn explained, his eyes shifting over Poe’s shoulder nervously. “I’ve been regretting leaving the ball since the moment I gave your jacket back to Bas.”

“It suited you,” Poe murmured lowly. “I wanted to go to the manor as soon as I learned—but I didn’t think you would want to see me.”

“You didn’t ask Bas, did you?” At the negative shake of the prince’s head, Finn ducked his head. “Small comfort. If you had, he would have told you just how much I wanted to see you, loyalty be damned.”

Poe stood in dumbstruck wonder.

Finn rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t leave me to be embarrassed alone. Bas told me you’re so in love with me your brain stopped working.”

“He _what?!_ ”

“Tell me it’s a lie, Eop,” Finn shot back, cocking his head to the right, eyes wide in teasing anticipation. “Honestly, how did you not figure that out? I adore Bastian, but _really_ , Poe?”

“I beg your pardon; I’m still trying to understand that you don’t despise me.”

“Of course, I don’t, don’t be ridiculous,” Finn shook his head. “Did you think I left that night because I—no, you couldn’t have. When we were in the gardens—you must have known then.”

“Between your riddles and hidden meanings, I hardly knew my own name by the end,” Poe defended, waving a hand between himself and Finn. “I knew you were the most interesting person I’d ever met, I knew I could have spent the entire night speaking with you if Lo hadn’t interrupted us, I knew the only thing in the world I wanted was--,” he broke off, his teeth clicking at the force of his jaw shutting.

“Yes,” Finn urged, crossing his arms. “The only thing in the world you wanted was?”

Poe blinked. “This.”

Finn frowned, confused. “What, to stand on the lawns and make fools of ourselves?”

“Anything, if it meant I was speaking to you again,” Poe admitted before he lost his nerve. “And I don’t know if that’s love or curiosity or whatever else but--,”

“Slow down,” Finn advised, catching the prince’s hand and threading their fingers together. “I didn’t come here for a marriage proposal and I don’t think you did either.” Poe swallowed drily and shook his head wordlessly, his attention trained on their joined hands, Finn’s callouses wider than his own. Finn’s fingers squeezed, and Poe’s gaze darted up. “Does your father know?”

“No. Not yet.”

Finn nodded understandingly. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps, now that we’ve set aside the riddles and mysteries--,”

“ _We_ ,” Poe asked pointedly.

“Very well, your highness,” Finn sassed, “now that _I’ve_ set aside the riddles and mysteries, we could try to learn each other. If nothing else, I think it’s safe to say we both like talking to each other.”

“Yes, and there’s one other thing that’s safe to say,” Poe ventured with a crooked smile.

“Do tell,” Finn urged, playing along.

“We both look great in each other’s clothes.”

“I don’t recall saying you looked great in my shirt,” Finn stated, bursting out laughing at the affronted prince’s expression. 

“That’s Finn,” Bastian said with certainty, the sound of laughter reaching from around the corner of the town’s wall. “Come on, let’s--,”

“Don’t, bug, they need their time,” Iolo warned, catching the fifteen-year-old by the arm and holding him in place. “We’re in no hurry.”

“Maybe you’re not,” Bastian muttered, shaking off the younger prince’s grip but making no move to leave, instead leaning back against the tall, cool stones and crossing his arms. “I only get the morning off, and Finn always buys lunch on Market Day.”

Iolo hummed, leaning beside the baking apprentice. “Do you enjoy working in the kitchens?”

Bastian shrugged. “I like baking more than polishing silver all day.”

“That’s not an answer, bug,” Iolo pointed out, tucking loose curls behind Bastian’s ear. “If you didn’t work in the palace kitchens, what would you like to do?”

Frowning, Bastian blinked up at the prince. “I don’t know—do you mean, would I like to work on the grounds?”

Iolo sighed. “If you could do anything in the world, what would it be, Bas?”

Bastian was silent for a moment. “When we were younger, Finn and I would play a game. We’d pretend we were the king, and we’d make up what we would do.” Looking up into the prince’s blue eyes, Bastian half-smiled. “Finn was better at the game. I just wanted fewer chores.”

“There must be something you want,” Iolo urged. “You can tell me; I promise I won’t laugh at you. Remember when you told me you wanted to learn to bake?”

“Yeah,” Bastian acknowledged with a chuckle. “The next day Cook had me kneading dough for _hours_.”

Iolo smiled softly. “Well then?”

Bastian shrugged. “I never thought about it. I always thought I would be working in the palace or maybe for you, when you set up your own property.” 

“Oh,” Iolo breathed, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, you’ll certainly come with me, if I leave. That’s a promise, but that will be some time off.”

“I’ll like that,” Bastian said simply. 

Iolo swallowed around a lump in his throat, pulling the fifteen-year-old against him. “I’ll like that too. But is there nothing in the meantime?”

Bastian twisted until his head rested over Iolo’s heart. “I have you and Finn until then. I don’t think I need anything else.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Iolo pledged, too softly for the other to hear, rubbing his hand across the narrow expanse of the fifteen-year-old’s shoulders.

“Don’t,” Finn hissed, throwing out his arm and blocking Poe’s steps. “Bas and your brother,” he explained.

Poe, confused, leaning around the corner, saw the pair, and groaned. “I told Lo to be careful, and _this_ is what he must do.”

“What are you talking about? There’s no harm in it,” Finn smiled reassuringly at the elder prince.

“No, not now,” Poe replied hesitantly. “But there’s no telling in the future…”

“Let the future be the future,” Finn advised, patting Poe on the shoulder comfortingly. “For now, Bas needs a friend like your brother, and everyone should have a friend like Bas.”

“And what are you two whispering about,” called Iolo, releasing Bastian; Finn and Poe finally emerged around the corner, Finn looking sheepish and Poe looking resigned.

Bastian grinned, reaching behind blindly to grab Iolo’s hand and dragged the younger prince to join the approaching pair. “Are you two going to live happily ever after,” the baking apprentice asked impishly, dodging away from Poe’s swat with a cackle.

“You’re in a good mood; I trust the market was a success,” Finn directed to Iolo.

“A _great_ success,” Bastian emphasized, handing over a small moneybag, jingling with coins.

“I never saw anything like it,” Iolo marveled to his brother. “He never paid more than a quarter of the asking price.”

“Which was bit tricky for the two hundred units of sacking you wanted, but I never back down,” Bastian beamed proudly.

“I don’t need two hundred units of sacking,” Finn said blankly. “What in stars would I do with two hundred units of sacking?”

Bastian frowned, pulling the list from his pocket. “I don’t know—make sacks? You need to store the grain in something, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—look, that’s a twenty, not two hundred, Bas!”

“I did try to mention something about that,” Iolo mentioned gently at Bastian’s crestfallen expression. “I’m afraid my Naboo impression needs some work.”

“We’ll have to return it,” Finn sighed. “Did you have it sent to the manor?”

“We can’t return it, Finn! It’s my reputation,” Bastian whined.

Iolo cooed softly, patting the baking apprentice on the head. “Never mind, bug. Finn, send any surplus to the palace with the bill in my name. I can’t allow Bastian’s efforts to go to waste; I never heard such bargaining.”

“And what will you do with one hundred and eighty units of sacking,” Poe asked his brother.

“Make sacks, I suppose,” the younger prince replied archly. Bastian ducked his head his head with a sniff and chuckle. “Now, I heard tell that Finn always buys lunch on Market Day.”

“Telling all our secrets, huh,” Finn teased his friend. “Come along now; don’t look like that, Bas. We’ll go to the tavern, and Iolo and I can discuss sacking techniques.”

“Will you be joining us, Eop,” Iolo chimed, Finn and Bastian turning expectant gazes on the eldest prince.

“Yes, but only if I hear more about Bastian’s extraordinary bargaining skills,” Poe said, earning approving grins from his brother and Finn and bemused blinking from Bastian.

“Lead on then, Finn,” Iolo prompted, stepping aside with an elegant bow.

Finn, with a roll of his eyes, offered his arm to Bastian, who laid hand in the crock of Finn’s elbow with a wink.

“And so,” Iolo began, grabbing Poe’s arm and falling into step behind the pair with his brother, “did it go well?”

“You know, I think it did,” Finn answered Bastian’s inquiry with a giddy smile. “I think it went very well.”

“Excellent,” Iolo beamed at Poe’s confirmation. “I don’t want to speak out of turn but--,”

“—I have a good feeling about this, Finn,” Bastian said gleefully.

“Me too,” Poe told his brother. “Now, hurry, we’re losing them.”


	2. Part 2: Bastian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, part two!

_**Two Years Later**_

“Now, on _my_ count this time.”

“Your count is too fast.”

“No, it’s not—will you trust me on this?”

“You should, Finn, you should really trust him on this.”

“Don’t you have scones to bake or something,” Finn shot at his friend, who was leaning against the wall, hands in his apron pockets, a picture of nonchalance.

“What, and miss the entertainment,” Bastian asked, smirking. “Besides, I’m making blue milk buns, and the dough needs to rest for at least an hour.”

“Can’t you order him to leave,” Finn directed at Poe, who dropped his arm from Finn’s waist and stepped back.

“He’s your friend,” Poe countered blandly. “I wasn’t the one who told him you were having dancing lessons today.”

“It’s more difficult than it looks,” Finn grumbled, crossing over to the bench by the tall windows while Poe dismissed the conductor and quartet with a nod. “And the timing makes no sense.”

Poe, from experience, held his tongue but Bastian, moving to join Finn, said blithely, “It looks simple enough to me. You’re thinking too hard.”

“Is that right,” Finn asked drily, smiling up at Poe who handed him a glass of iced tea. “Aren’t you going to defend me? I _am_ your affianced.”

Poe took a long sip of his own tea, eyes darting between the pair. Swallowing, he said carefully, “I would like to be excluded from this conversation.”

“There, you see,” Bastian crooned triumphantly while Finn snapped,

“You agree with him?!”

“I _said_ —listen, maybe if you would relax a little,” Poe suggested helplessly, ignoring Bastian’s vindicated grin. “You know the steps and—Bastian, if you plan to stand there and gloat, I will order you back to the kitchens,” he threatened half-heartedly.

“Leave him be,” Finn sighed, bowing his head with a small frown.

Poe ran a hand down his face with an exasperated, “A moment ago you were begging me to send him away.”

“No, no, I promise I’m not being mean,” Bastian consoled, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I want to help.”

“I fail to see how standing and laughing at me during every one of these lessons is helping me,” Finn pointed out.

“I’ve been learning the steps. Now, will you let me show you where you’re going wrong or do you want to spend another month and a half complaining about the timing—which we both know isn’t the problem,” Bastian finished, hands on his hips and chin raised.

Finn glanced up at Poe. “Are we required to dance at our engagement ball?”

“Yes,” the prince confirmed with a grimace.

Finn returned the wince, taking a gulp of his drink. “Very well, have it your way, Bas.”

“Excellent! Get up—no, wait, maybe you should watch first,” the second baker considered. “Right, watch me—and pretend I’m dancing with someone,” he amended, untying his apron.

“It might be more helpful for Finn,” came a fourth, unexpected voice, “if you had a partner for the demonstration.”

“Lo! You weren’t expected until tomorrow,” Bastian beamed, turning and darting forward, sliding on his stockinged feet and crashing into Iolo’s chest with a bright laugh.

The younger prince caught Bastian, lifting the seventeen-year-old off his feet and swinging him around easily before setting him down with a soft smile and chuckle. “Yes, but there was no reason to dally on the road,” Iolo replied, lifting his gaze to the room’s other occupants while burying a hand into the second baker’s thick curls. “Had I known there was another dancing lesson, I would have hastened even more.”

“We weren’t all blessed with your natural grace,” Finn retorted, crossing at a more sedated pace, offering his hand, which Iolo took and squeezed. “Welcome back. Bastian’s moping has been insufferable.”

“Shut it,” the second baker hissed, eyes narrowing to a glare.

Iolo hummed, drawing Bastian closer. “I can well imagine. You’ll soon regret your wish, bug. I heard that I am under orders to stay within the palace walls, isn’t that right, brother dear?”

“Father would not have ordered such if you weren’t so determined to avoid your duties,” Poe drawled, cocking an eyebrow, which his brother returned.

“How strange. I was under the impression my duty was to garner support for your engagement,” the younger prince replied haughtily. “Was I meant to do that from my bed chambers?”

“Your birthday,” Poe reminded.

“What of it—oh damnation,” Iolo groaned, casting his eyes to the gilded ceiling. “My time has come, has it?”

Finn, noticing Bastian’s scowl, aimed at his feet, offered, “It’s only a ball. No one expects…well.”

“I understand you,” Iolo acknowledged darkly, his gaze also resting on the seventeen-year-old. “Cheer up—I’m sure the preparations will pale in comparison to Poe’s presentation. I can’t outshine my brother any more than is unavoidable,” the younger prince joked bracingly, giving Bastian’s shoulders a slight jostle. “At the very least, we can forgo the sugar tower.”

Bastian snorted, looking up with a hesitant smile. “I told the chamberlain you wouldn’t want one. He was very disappointed; I think he almost cried.”

“The chamberlain will survive,” Iolo assured, rolling his eyes. “So, this is why I’ve been summoned. When is the fated day?”

The question was aimed at the elder prince, but Bastian supplied, “Just over a fortnight—the kitchens don’t have time to order in any special ingredients but I’m going to Ferra Groves for koyo fruit--,”

“You are not going anywhere near Ferra Groves,” Iolo interrupted firmly, his expression hardening. “What’s more, you will not--,”

There was a cough and then a gentle, “Excuse me, your highnesses.”

“Yes, Snap,” Poe acknowledged the knight, standing just within the room.

“The king is expecting you in his study,” Snap announced neutrally.

“We’ll join him now,” Poe said, adding “won’t we, Lo?”

Iolo glowered but nodded. “Yes. Now, bug, I don’t want to hear anymore nonsense about Ferra Groves,” he warned sternly. “Finn, will I see you later?”

“I’ll be around,” Finn stated, accepting a quick kiss to his cheek from Poe before the princes departed, bowed out of the room by the knight. Snap sent a quick smile to the remaining pair and the shut the door.

“What’s Lo talking about,” Bastian asked. “What’s wrong with Ferra Groves?”

“Nothing I can think of,” Finn shrugged, considering. “I haven’t been there in years, but it was quite pleasant from what I remember.” With a mischievous glint, Finn suggested, “Maybe Lo wants you to stay close, where he can see you.”

Bastian rolled his eyes, smacking his friend’s arm. “Not a chance. Should I show you the steps now or do you want to wait for Poe?”

Finn groaned and his friend grinned widely. “Yes, you better show me—with as little giggling as possible, thank you.”

Meanwhile, the king of Yavin sat in amazement, befuddled by the unique of experience of being lectured by his younger son.

“With the reports we’ve had of slavers on the border, to be sending someone without protection or experience to Ferra Groves is reckless not to mention irresponsible--,”

Casting a confused glace up to his eldest son, Kes murmured, “What poor soul am I condemning to a slaver’s ledger?”

Poe sighed heavily, hand over his eyes. “Lo, I don’t know what you think we do all day, but Father and I do not supervise the comings and goings of minor kitchen staff. The chamberlain must have given Bastian permission—for which you have only yourself to blame. It was your idea that Bastian help manage the kitchens’ supplies.”

“Yes, at Market Day in town,” Iolo snapped over his shoulder as he paced the length of the study. “Bastian has never been farther than Finn’s manor. I’ll have to go with him.”

“No, Iolo,” Poe intoned, massaging his right temple with his fingertips.

“What your brother wants to say,” Kes interjected soothingly, laying a hand on Poe’s wrist and sending a consolatory smile to his younger son, “is that we will need you here. As I’m sure you read in the dispatches, I will be accompanying the council to the Massassi Valley to inspect the flooding damage for the next week. I count on you to assist Poe in managing affairs while I am away.”

“Poe has never needed my help before,” Iolo mentioned gloomily, marching back and collapsing into one of the seats opposite the king’s. “Bastian won’t make it there on his own,” he groused. “It’s ridiculous. He can barely ride a pony.”

“It would be more ridiculous to send a second baker with an armed escort,” Poe pointed out blandly.

“Poe,” Kes warned lowly as Iolo turned a fierce glare on his brother. “Not now.”

Iolo slumped in the seat, gnawing on his bottom lip, before straightening abruptly. “Father, there have been reports of slavers along the southern border near Ferra Groves,” Iolo began.

“So you’ve said,” Poe huffed. “Repeatedly.”

“We ought to investigate the validity of those reports,” Iolo continued decisively, his eyes trained on the king.

Kes smiled kindly. “What did you have in mind, my dear?”

“One knight,” the younger prince wheedled. “It won’t cause any undue alarm or attention.”

“And if that one knight happened to leave for Ferra Groves the same time as the second baker,” Poe asked rhetorically.

“His name is Bastian,” Iolo told his brother flatly, “since you seemed to have forgotten. He is also the good friend of your affianced. Which reminds me,” the younger prince went on, tilting his head in thought, “I wonder what Finn would say if he knew Bastian was about to undertake a dangerous journey unaccompanied.”

“My dear, please do not extort your brother,” Kes beseeched mildly, Poe sticking out his tongue vindictively. “Yes,” the king continued, “we will send one knight to Ferra Groves. I look forward to the resulting report.”

Iolo’s shoulders relaxed and he jumped to his feet. “Thank you, Father,” he breathed, bowing kiss the king’s bearded cheek. “I won’t forget this.”

“May I remind both of you that there have been no confirmed sightings or kidnappings, and this may all be a gross overreaction,” Poe proposed to no avail as his younger brother left the study through the servant’s door. Shifting to sit across from his father, he went on, “This is getting out of hand.”

Kes frowned, rubbing his thumb along his bottom lip in thought. “We must tread carefully,” the king allowed slowly. “I hoped some distance would have done some good.”

Poe shook his head. “They’re the same as ever—perhaps even more so.” The king hummed, considering. Poe dropped his gaze, running a hand through his hair. “The law is clear.”

“Well I know it,” Kes conceded. “There is every possibility that their attachment will yet fade in time.”

“After that display, it doesn’t seem likely,” Poe huffed.

_**Two Days Later**_

“Is it always like this when you run an errand,” Finn asked, standing in the side courtyard with his hands on his hips, watching footmen, knights, and the princes of the realm mill about.

Bastian shook his head wordlessly, the reins of a small pale gray horse named Snowdrop twisted between his fingers. “It’s never like this—not even when the chamberlain goes to Sistra Mountain for the annual assessments,” he mumbled. Raising wide, perturbed eyes to his friend, Bastian offered, “Maybe it’s because Snap is going too?”

“Perhaps,” Finn allowed uncertainly, eyes landing on Poe bent in conversation with the knight in question. “Did you know Snap had family in Ferra Groves?”

“No one tells me anything,” Bastian replied with a shrug, chuckling as Snowdrop nuzzled his cheek with a hint of impatience. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pick up anything for you,” he asked his friend. “I hear they have loads of dyed silks.”

“I think I’ll continue stealing Poe’s shirts, thank you,” Finn joked, evading Bastian’s flailing hand easily with a laugh. “But if you see anything you like--,”

“I won’t use more than twenty of your credits,” Bastian pledged firmly.

“I can spare all of those credits, and I don’t want to see any of them returned,” Finn said promptly. “And I’m sure Lo would say the same,” he continued as the younger prince approached.

“I’m sure I might, if I had any idea what you two are discussing,” Iolo answered lightly but with a furrowed brow. “Bug, are you certain you have everything you need? Did you pack the rain cloak?”

Finn, glancing between the prince and the second baker, slowly withdrew unobserved.

“Yes, I did, and the sunhat and the mittens,” Bastian listed with a roll of his eyes. “You know I’m only going to be gone for three days, right?”

“And if you’re late, I will send a garrison to bring you back,” Iolo stated resolutely, eyes hardening. “Three days, Bas.”

“Three days,” the second baker agreed. “If Snap tries to linger, I’ll leave him behind.”

“Keep Snap with you, bug. And keep this near you as well,” Iolo said, removing his signet ring and pressing it into Bastian’s upturned palm. Ignoring the seventeen-year-old’s gasp, the prince went on, “If you get lost or—separated from Snap, anyone in the kingdom who sees this ring will guide you back here. Do not take it off,” he warned sternly.

“Lo, I think this is worth more than my life,” Bastian marveled, inspecting the engraved green gemstone, the facets reflecting his confused expression in multiple.

“Don’t joke about that, bug,” Iolo sighed, running a hand through his hair, sunlight glinting off the pale golden strands. “Nothing is worth more than your life. Certainly not koyo fruit.”

While fitting the ring onto his fourth finger, Bastian looked up at the prince with a smirk. “But koyo fruit is your favorite.”

“You’re my,” Iolo broke off with a thick swallow, looking away as the seventeen-year-old’s jaw dropped. “Never mind. It appears Snap is ready. Let’s get you up,” the prince diverted, giving Snowdrop’s nose a gentle pat.

Bastian gulped, placing his hands on Iolo’s shoulders as the younger prince gripped his waist and lifted the second baker into the saddle. Iolo began to step back, but he was held in place by a surprisingly tight grasp.

“You’re my favorite too,” Bastian whispered, holding Iolo gaze seriously before letting go and swinging his leg over to sit astride.

“I’ll be sure to tell Finn he’s lost his position,” Iolo joked breathlessly, pinching the bridge of his nose against the sudden pressure behind his eyes.

“Well, Bastian, should we start off,” Snap asked, approaching on his dark bay.

The second baker nodded jerkily, and Iolo said sternly, “I expect you’ve had your orders, Sir Wexley?”

“I have, your highness,” Snap confirmed with a slight bow.

“Very well,” Iolo sighed, resigned. “Three days, Bas.”

“Or you’ll send the garrison, I know,” the second baker chuckled thickly, pressing his heels into Snowdrop’s flanks and starting forward, following Snap and his steed.

There was a heavy exhale and then a comforting arm settled around Iolo’s shoulders. “It’s hard to watch them grow up,” Finn commented lightly.

“He shouldn’t be going,” Iolo muttered mostly to himself, his eyes never leaving the shrinking figures as they passed through the gate in the palace’s outer wall.

Finn hummed noncommittally. “It’s time Bas has an adventure,” he said bracingly. “He’ll be back before you know it—and will be talking our ears off far too soon.”

“He better be,” Iolo breathed before shaking off Finn’s hold and turning back to the palace, not noticing the guarded expression on his brother’s face.

_**Three Days Later**_

“Despite the flooding, the harvest this year is expected to give us a surplus. We may be able to use this in our favor with the upcoming trade negotiations with Torque.”

Poe nodded, accepting the offered parchment from the adviser. “Thank you, Bee. Lo, what is your opinion?” The inquiry was met with silence, and Poe cleared his throat loudly. “Iolo. Join us.”

The younger prince glanced away from the window where he was leaning, arms crossed, and mouth pinched. “Torque had three poor harvests in a row, but I hear that they have other options. We’ll have to make a better offer than Vaal. Have you had any word from Krylon? We may have move leverage there.”

At that, Bee began to shift through her pages and Poe pushed himself to his feet, crossing to his brother.

“Clever to think of Krylon,” Poe offered in an undertone, leaning close and blocking the desired view.

“You’re welcome,” Iolo mumbled distractedly, shifting to squint around the elder prince’s shoulder. “How much longer do you need me?”

“I’ll always need you, I expect,” Poe jested lightly. “I don’t have your flair for diplomacy.”

Iolo shot an unimpressed look at his brother. “I live to serve, sire.”

Poe snorted and rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I was trying compliment you, not that you make it easy.”

“I will gladly take all your praise, any day but today. I feel like I can’t breathe,” Iolo complained, pressing a hand to his chest. “It’s as if I’ve been running for days.”

“Are you sick? We can send for the physician,” the elder prince offered promptly.

With a curious half-smile, Iolo shook his head. “No, Poe. I’m not sick. Certainly in no way Kalonia could fix.”

“If you’ve been feeling ill for days, you might have an infection,” Poe went on, undaunted. “I can handle the rest for today if you want to lie down or—what,” Poe prompted when Iolo let out a strangled croak, his face draining of color and emotion. “Lo?”

“One rider,” Iolo bit out, shoving Poe out of the way and leaning forward, bracing himself against the window frame. “ _No_.”

“Lo, that could mean anything,” Poe said, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder only have it jerked away. Spotting the rapidly approaching figure on a dark horse, he added, “Bastian could have stopped to see Finn first.”

“He didn’t—he _wouldn’t_ ,” Iolo snarled, tossing a wild look at the elder prince before dashing out of the room.

Poe spared a rushed, “Thank you, Bee, that will be all,” as he took off after his brother, sprinting down the hall and catching Iolo just before the younger started down the stone staircase.

“Let go,” Iolo snapped, trying to shake out of Poe’s hold as the older grabbed his shoulders. Poe hauled his brother around until his back hit the wall and the younger was boxed in. “Get,” Iolo growled through clenched teeth, “ _out_ of my way.”

“Get ahold of yourself,” Poe hissed. “I will not let you make a fool of yourself.”

“What does it matter,” Iolo scoffed, his breathing coming in short pants. “Snap _abandoned_ his charge. Snap disobeyed a _direct order_ \--,”

“He didn’t.”

Under Poe’s hands, Iolo went still, his eyes darting across his brother’s face, searching. “What did you do,” he ground out, voice shaking.

Poe swallowed drily, and swallowed again. “Snap was sent to investigate rumors of slavers near Ferra Groves,” he croaked before he stumbled back, surprised by a solid shove to his chest.

Iolo drew himself up, rolling his shoulders back. “You got your answer. Now I’m getting mine,” he vowed, his eyes hard and his lips twisted in a cold smile. Before Poe had time to recover, Iolo started down the stairs, his steps short and quick, calling, “Bring Sir Wexley to the audience chamber _immediately_ ,” and watching in grim satisfaction as three footmen and a guard scattered at the command.

Poe braced his weight against the banister, listening until the rapid footfalls faded before he rolled his shoulders back and started down the staircase at a sedated pace, his hands curled in fists and jaw clenched. As he neared the bottom, two knights came charging towards him, drawing up short when the caught sight of the heir to the kingdom.

“Well,” he prompted flatly.

After a quick exchange of looks, Knight Jess cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Sir Wexley has returned.”

“So I gathered,” Poe acknowledged with a short nod. “Is he waiting in the audience chamber?”

“Yes, sire,” Knight Karé confirmed, falling into step behind the prince as he continued forward without pause.

“Good,” Poe said curtly as Jess flanked him on his right. “I may give you both an unusual order shortly,” he continued briskly, glancing over his shoulder at the knights. “Heed it.”

“Yes, your highness,” Karé replied, catching the panicked look shot her way from Jess, shrugging minutely in confusion.

“Good,” Poe repeated, taking a deep breath before gesturing with a flick of his hand for the knights to open the large gilded double doors.

“We were ambushed half a day outside Ferra Groves,” Snap was saying, his gaze trained on the far wall of the chamber while the younger prince prowled in front of the throne dais. “The road was blocked, and the slavers surrounded us in the woods as we went around.”

“You were top of your class,” Iolo growled, eyes flashing. “Can’t you identity a trap when you see one?”

“I suggested that we stay on the road, but Bastian was insistent that we shouldn’t delay,” Snap answered levelly.

“I don’t care how _insistent_ he was—you are a knight of the realm,” Iolo enunciated, vibrating with anger. “You let an unarmed, untrained civilian who was in your charge--,”

“That’s enough, Iolo,” Poe interjected.

The younger prince rounded on his brother, upper lip twisted in a sneer. “For once, my _dear_ brother is right. There will be time enough for discussing all your shortfalls when I return. You took the Yavin Bypass, did you not?”

Snap opened his mouth to reply, but it was Poe who said, “You won’t be going anywhere, Iolo.” The younger prince scoffed, casting his eyes upwards, but not dignifying his brother with a reply as he started for the doors, only to have his arm caught in a vice grip. “ _Think_ ,” Poe implored, his head ducked towards Iolo’s. “What exactly will it look like if a prince of the realm is seen charging around the kingdom after a servant?”

“What does it matter—it’s _Bas_ ,” Iolo breathed, his eyes wide, unassuming, earnest, and the elder prince knew that line of argument was useless.

“Remember you are under orders to remain here until Father returns.”

Iolo’s jaw dropped in shock, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “I highly doubt, brother mine, that Father considered this possibility when he--,”

“That’s not how orders work, Lo,” Poe pointed out, struggling to keep his voice even as he felt his brother shaking in his hold.

“And you know all about orders, don’t you,” Iolo snapped mockingly, wrenching his arm free. “Very well, you can throw me in the dungeons for treason after I return.”

Iolo made three strides towards the doors before Poe stopped him with a firm, “It won’t be after.”

The younger prince froze mid-step, his gaze falling on the two knights flanking the doors for the first time. Iolo clenched his jaw and turned slowly on his heel, Poe gulping at the hateful glare trained on him.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Iolo challenged.

“Don’t force my hand,” Poe replied, frowning. “Lo, take a moment to consider your position--,”

“My position?! Let me tell you of my _position_ ,” Iolo spat furiously. “My oldest friend in the world has been kidnapped by slavers and my brother is threatening me!”

“There are rules that must be followed,” Poe shouted back, not meeting the younger prince’s eyes. “If you controlled yourself instead of acting as though the world is ending--,”

“My world is--,” Iolo broke off with a gag, a hand flying to cover his mouth, and Poe glimpsed a wet glint in his brother’s eye before the younger prince ducked his head with slumped shoulders.

Poe grimaced, running his hands through his hair in frustration and then taking a step towards Iolo, whose head rose, expression resolute.

“Someday, Poe, you will know what I’m feeling,” Iolo said, voice steady. “When you do, I hope you remember what you’ve done,” he finished before turning his back on his brother. “Come along, we’ll do this properly,” he announced to Jess and Karé as he marched towards them, offering his wrists as he neared. “Be sure to pick a cell without a window—stars know I’ll try to escape.”

“Your highness,” inquired Jess to the elder prince, voice high with uncertainty.

Poe exhaled heavily. “Take him away,” he confirmed with a nod.

Hesitantly, Karé and Jess took hold of Iolo’s wrists while the younger prince stood straight, chin raised high. 

“You’re not to blame,” Iolo murmured softly to the knights. “Do what you must.”

Poe stayed where he was, watching as the knights led his brother from the audience chambers, waiting until the doors were closed, blocking the sight of the trio, before climbing up the dais and sitting on the throne.

“Now, Sir Wexley, your report,” Poe ordered.

_**Hours Later**_

Standing in the king’s study, glass of wine loosely held in one hand, his other arm wrapped across his chest, Poe stared out the long window overlooking the town without seeing it. Dusk had settled over the distant woods and expanse of fields while wisps of smoke curled upwards from chimneys below. Poe sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing, mind tangled and eyes glazed.

From behind, he heard the click of the door latch loud against the silence. Knowing there was only one person left who could enter unannounced, Poe turned with tired resignation.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Poe implored softly, meeting Finn’s eye for a breath before glancing away. “I—I never intended to leave Bastian,” he went on quickly. “A squadron will leave tomorrow to track down the slavers. There’s every chance they haven’t gotten far. Slavers tend to collect--,” his voice failing, Poe broke off with a dry cough.

Finn stood, arms crossed, just within the study.

Shoulders slumping, the elder prince forced himself to continue. “Slaver raids take as many people as possible. They most likely took cover near the border while they set their next trap. The squadron will apprehend the slavers at their camp and—and everything will be fine.”

Finn didn’t move.

“I was never planning to abandon Bastian,” Poe went on under his own momentum, feeling frantic. “If Lo had waited—if he had _listened_ to me—I didn’t want to lock him—he’s my brother,” he floundered, heart pounding, wine sloshing as his hands trembled. “How could I face our father if I let Lo run off and get hurt or worse?”

Finn blinked once. 

“There are steps that must be taken,” Poe rambled. “There is an order to things we must follow—and we can’t have a prince racing around the kingdom after a servant whom he’s not allowed to love!”

Finn inhaled through his nose. “I wondered when you were planning to be honest with me,” he commented, closing the door and moving further into the room, stopping beside the lit fireplace. “That’s the crux of the matter, is it? You won’t have your brother love a commoner.”

Poe winced and then finished the rest of his glass of wine in one gulp. “It has nothing to do with me,” he muttered. “It’s the law of the kingdom—and has been long before I was born.”

“If I recall correctly,” Finn began breezily, resting his weight against the mantle, “the law does not state that Iolo will be executed for falling in love with Bas.”

“Banished is no better,” Poe grumbled, setting the empty glass a side and crossing to the other, dropping into one of the armchairs facing the crackling flames. “Iolo wouldn’t be allowed within Yavin again. And neither would Bastian,” he reminded, risking a glance up at Finn, backlit by the fire.

“It might be worth noting that, as far as I’m aware, Lo and Bas have not eloped.”

Poe scowled, eyes narrowing. “Can you tell me honestly that you don’t think it likely?”

Finn shrugged unconcerned. “I wouldn’t want to hazard a guess. I think they’re well-suited for each other; no one can deny that. Would anyone be surprised if they did make a match of it someday?”

“In the palace? No one with eyes. But knights and servants cannot change the law,” the prince pointed out, dragging a hand down his face. “The nobles will never approve.”

“Do you know another thing I thought the nobles would never approve,” Finn asked, not unkindly. “I swore the council would never permit a Skywalker to marry into the royal family. But, thanks in no small part to Lo, that is due to change.”

“You don’t need to make me feel worse,” Poe groused, slouching. “I know I’m no better than a villain after this afternoon.”

“Yes,” Finn confirmed without pity. “You won no favor, from what I hear. After Lo’s performance, I’d be shocked if there was a soul in the castle not prepared to defend him and Bas. Including myself, if you were wondering.”

“I didn’t wonder; I knew,” Poe said blandly. “I never saw such a display. You would have thought he was sacrificing his life, the way he yielded.”

“Or perhaps his heart?” Finn managed a small, sad smile at the surprised look trained up at him. “You’ll never win his forgiveness if you don’t bring Bas home.”

“And will I win yours?”

Finn snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be a martyr; your brother plays the role better. I wouldn’t be standing here if I thought you had any part in Bastian’s kidnapping. When does the squadron set out?”

“First light. Snap will take lead; he all but demanded it,” Poe said with a sheepish smile.

“Good,” Finn nodded approvingly. “Is Lo allowed visitors or is he in solitary?”

Poe laughed with a tight chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Lo has had more visitors today than he ever had before.”

“Including you?”

Wincing, the prince said, “No. Not yet. Not until I have word. But will you let me know how he is?”

“I will, but don’t think I approve that decision of yours either,” Finn scolded lightly, relenting and closing the distance between himself and Poe, bending at his waist to press his lips to the prince’s forehead. “We’ll speak more tomorrow, once we’ve calmed down.”

“Agreed,” Poe sighed, squeezing Finn’s offered hand. “Thank you for facing me.”

“Of course. I’ll leave you to wallow—you’ll punish yourself more effectively than I ever could,” Finn quipped before turning, wet chuckles following him out of the study.

Once he closed the door, Finn let his face fall into a tight frown, his fists clenching, knuckles blanching as he started for the bowels of the castle. He had only ventured in that direction once before, on an improvised tour of the grounds and palace, led by Bastian. Finn could have almost smiled, remembering his friend’s endless patter as if he were hearing it fresh: “of course, no one gets locked in the dungeons nowadays—not since the war, I think? I don’t know, but Lo would—anyway, it’s just for appearances now, complete waste of space. I wonder if they would let me proof dough down here. The temperature is perfect, really—why are you laughing?”

Even if he hadn’t known where he was going, clearly the rest of the palace did. Every person Finn passed immediately pointed him further down the narrowing corridors, along the dim stone stairs, through the damp, dripping passages until he emerged into a sudden, brightly lit underground square. At the sight of him, Jess and Karé straightened with obvious apprehension.

“Is there anyone with him now,” Finn asked neutrally.

“Snap,” Jess confirmed, studying Finn’s face dubiously. “Io—the prince agreed to speak with him.”

“I have no doubt,” Finn nodded, forcing himself to smile. “You needn’t look as if I were here to throw you both in cells as well. This nonsense must stop somewhere.”

“We’re so sorry to hear about Bastian,” Karé blurted out, and Finn’s attempted simper dropped.

“Everyone is. Where will I find Lo?”

“He—he asked not to have a window,” Jess replied, gesturing towards the interior wing of the dungeon. 

Finn hummed at that as he followed those vague directions, the scattered torches as guidance, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets against the sudden chill as he ventured further. At the sound of a voice, Finn slowed, stopping when he came to a corner and peeking around.

“—orders be damned, we will bring him home if I have anything to say about it,” Snap was saying, speaking to a seemingly flat wall. “I won’t be fooled by Bas again, your highness.”

“When he’s back, I’ll be sure to have a word with Bas about this alarming habit he’s developing of playing the hero,” came Iolo’s detached voice. “But I thank you. I am in no position to make any edicts, but if the decision should come between Bas and apprehending the slavers, I hope you will remember this discussion.”

“I will, your highness,” Snap bowed, straightening and looking in Finn’s direction, who offered a small wave. The knight winced and said, “Your next guest is here; I will take my leave, your highness.”

“Of course. Defy the storm, Sir Wexley,” the prince dismissed, and Snap placed his hand over his heart and bowed low, backing away with ceremony.

As he turned and passed, the knight’s steps faltered but Finn shook his head. Snap acquiesced, continuing by Finn without a word. 

Waiting until Snap’s footfalls faded, Finn squared his shoulders and moved around the corner, approaching the screen of thick metal bars, his heart sinking when his gaze fell on the sole occupant, standing back against the far wall of the cell, his light blue shirt glaringly bright in the dreary setting. 

Casting his eyes over the prince’s rumpled hair, straight back, and tense stance, Finn chuckled, “I’ve never seen you look more majestic, Lo.”

The prince gulped visibly, uncrossing his arms and crossing the cell in two short steps. “I cannot apologize enough, Finn,” Iolo breathed, voice little more than a rasp. “I knew there was a risk and I didn’t—I wish to the stars I had told you, had told _him_ ,” he choked out, griping a bar with each hand and leaning his weight, his head dipping below his shoulders. “Why I didn’t seems so meaningless now.”

“You didn’t want to frighten him. I know that; you would never try to distress him. Don’t do this to yourself, Lo,” Finn beseeched, wrapping his hands around the prince’s fingers squeezing the bars. “You will drive yourself crazy down here if you think like that.”

“I deserve it,” the prince countered firmly, lifting his head to meet Finn’s eyes. “I had the chance to prevent this and instead—well, I learned my lesson. See if Bastian is allowed past the gate without me once he’s home.”

“And he will come home,” Finn stated, bending his knees to keep the prince’s sightline as Iolo ducked his face again with a huff. “He _will_ , Lo. I’ll go myself to ensure it.”

“No,” Iolo snapped in alarm, eyes widening. “Don’t, Finn. We’re in this mess in the first place because we sent an untrained civilian into danger. I cannot have another on my ledger.”

Finn snorted. “I have a bit more experience than you give me credit for. You can’t think my father left me without the means of protecting myself.”

Already shaking his head, Iolo said, “Be that as it may, if anything were to happen to you—no, Finn, I can’t do that to Poe.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Finn asked, “Truly? I had thought you would have been only too glad to pull one over on your brother.”

Iolo frowned tightly. “I want to punch Poe in the face, not rip out his heart. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, certainly not my brother.”

After a moment’s pause, Finn marveled, “You are an amazing man, Lo.”

“I’m not; I couldn’t even protect my—friend within my own kingdom,” Iolo scoffed, pushing away from the bars and slouching to his left, shoulder to the rough stone wall.

Finn sighed, mirroring the prince’s movement. “You know, Bas is rather amazing himself.”

“You’ll have no argument from me,” Iolo replied instantly.

“And resourceful,” Finn added mildly, managing a genuine smile when the other blinked curiously. “He may have everything under control, and here we are worrying for nothing.”

Iolo laughed drily. “Yes, but I can’t help but think even Bas might need some help this time.”

Had the object of the conversation been privy to it, he would have agreed wholeheartedly.

Arms stretched out in front him, his heart pounding in his ears and his breathing coming in shallow pants, Bastian raced forward, the world around him nothing more than smudges and shadows. When his palms hit something solid, he changed his direction, feet slapping against the uneven ground. He knew he had been in a forest before, but he had long since lost any orientation or guess.

Suddenly, his left foot slipped, and Bastian tumbled down, his shoulder searing in pain as he rolled. Trying to cover his head, he cried out as his wrists twisted awkwardly and he came to a stop with a splash.

Gasping for breath, Bastian stayed where he was, his already clouded vision spinning. Wheezes turned to sobs as he tried to sit up and his arms gave out under him and he fell back into shallow, moving water. As the weight and breadth of the past day finally took their toll, Bastian curled in on himself and shut his eyes with a pained moan.

Bastian had no idea how long he laid still. What next he noticed was an incredulous cry of,

“Stars, it’s a child!”

“A child? Are you sure,” hollered another voice, sounding further away.

There was a plop to his right, and then Bastian felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and lift his torso from the water. Exhausted though he was, Bastian managed a protesting groan and he tried to pull away.

“Now, now, don’t worry,” soothed the first voice, close to Bastian’s ear. “We mean you no harm. Han, bring the torch!”

Bastian flinched as the blurred surroundings was suddenly illuminated. One figure loomed above him and an indistinct outline of a head and shoulders was beside him.

“Moon bless me,” breathed the closer figure, and Bastian felt his chin gripped and turned. “Did the slavers catch you, child?”

“Drugged,” asked the other, which jumped down and leaned over Bastian, heat from the torch causing the seventeen-year-old to shiver. “Damn me, look at his eyes. They must have given him enough ryll to take down a man three times his size.”

“You must have some fight in you, don’t you, child,” the first man cooed. “Well, you’re quite safe now. The slavers won’t bother you anymore.”

“Those slavers won’t bother anyone anymore,” the second man added with satisfaction.

“Help,” Bastian croaked, not quite believing or understanding what he was hearing.

“Yes, of course we will help you,” the first assured, drawing Bastian higher against his chest for support. Bastian gasped in pain, raising his hand to hold his shoulder, only to have his palm grabbed. “Now, what do you have here, child?”

“Let me see, Luke,” the second man said, the torch swaying in Bastian’s vision. “Well. That’s not what I expected to find out here.”

“It looks like we’ll be visiting the palace sooner than we planned,” the first murmured. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you, child?”

_**Two Days Later**_

Poe watched in mild irritation as the chamberlain lingered within the study. “Is there anything else,” he asked pointedly, a nagging headache he had nursed for the past three days shortening his patience even more.

“Well, your highness, I don’t want to trouble you,” Pio twittered, “but there is the small matter of the ball.”

“The ball,” Poe repeated blankly.

“Prince Iolo’s ball,” the chamberlain expanded, and Poe closed his eyes with a groan. “It’s just a week away, and there are a number of matters to attend to. His majesty had hoped that your brother would take charge of the arrangements, however under the circumstances…”

“Indeed,” Poe agreed with a sigh. “You had better prepare a list of the most pressing concerns for me. We will have to work quickly to--,” the prince broke, turning in surprise as the door to the study was flung open, hitting the wall with a bang.

“Excuse me, your highness,” Kaydel gasped, eyes blown wide. “You’ll never believe it!”

“I beg your pardon,” Poe asked the herald with a frown.

Kaydel gulped for breath and then rolled her shoulders back. “Lord Luke Skywalker and General Han Solo are in the audience chamber. And,” she hurried on as Poe’s jaw dropped, “they have Bastian.”

Poe stood frozen, mouth hanging loose. At the sound of the chamberlain’s cough, he shook himself and cleared his throat. “Pio, I’ll expect that list first thing tomorrow. Kaydel, have my brother brought to the audience chamber. That will be all,” he announced as he hurried past the chamberlain and herald, retracing his steps from days earlier, his heart in his throat for an entirely different reason this time.

At the sight of him, the footmen opened the tall double doors of the audience chamber and Poe marched through, noting the three figures waiting in the center of the large room but his eyes were drawn to the smallest, slightest one, being supported by the other two.

“Moon and stars, you look exactly like your father,” exclaimed one of the men, the corners of his blue eyes creased with mirth. “I’m Skywalker—you’ll have to forgive me for not bowing, but our charge is still under the influence of an extremely large dose of ryll.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary—did you say ryll,” Poe queried, approaching the trio with hesitant steps.

“Yes, slavers favor ryll,” General Solo answered promptly, his arm around Bastian’s waist shifting to lift the teenager higher against his side. “It has a delayed release, keeps them discombobulated.”

“Not that this one stood for that,” Luke chimed cheerfully as Poe reached the group, not noticing the prince’s perturbed expression. “He had escaped the slavers well before we found him, even with enough ryll to reduce a larger man to a shivering wreck.”

Poe frowned at that, bending at his knees to try and glimpse the second baker’s countenance. Slowly, Bastian lifted his head, and Poe hissed at the blown pupils and sweat glazed face tilted towards him, bruises darkening the smooth skin and a dried gash at his temple stretching from the corner of his eye to his hairline.

For a moment, Poe was at a loss of words. 

Then, Bastian rasped, “Wrong prince.”

Poe straightened with a surprised laugh, while Luke reassured, “Don’t mind him, your highness. I’m afraid the drug is taking its toll. He spent the better part of an hour last night telling us to get low.” Poe’s laughter broke off abruptly while Luke continued, “We dove for cover but when it became apparent the only aerial attack was in his mind, we managed to settle him down.”

“Get Lo,” Bastian mumbled, his head dropping heavily again and Poe grimaced, reaching out to run his hand through the teenager’s tangled curls, his fingers catching on a knot.

“You set him off again,” Han scolded, and Luke shrugged as best he could while Bastian slumped into his chest.

“Never mind, he’ll start to recover in a day or two, I should think. After some good rest and perhaps a bit more bacta for his shoulder, he will--,”

“Prince Iolo, your highness,” announced Kaydel before stepping aside, and Poe winced at the sight of his brother, striding into the chambers with dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, rumpled shirt, and bowed shoulders. The elder prince felt his chest tighten just as Bastian groaned,

“Lo?”

Instantly, Iolo’s gaze snapped to the other figures in the room and Poe saw the exact moment the younger prince realized.

“ _Bas_ ,” Iolo gasped, voice cracking. At the sound of his name, the seventeen-year-old tried to turn but ended up toppling into Luke with a grunt. Luke caught Bastian easily in his arms, looking between him and Iolo, who tore across the room and skidded to a halt in front of the pair. “Oh _stars_ , Bas,” he breathed, gentling the teenager into his chest. “If you ever scare me like that again,” he sniffed wetly, embracing Bastian and burying his face into the seventeen-year-old’s hair.

“My brother, Iolo,” Poe introduced numbly for what of something to say, swallowing against the lump in his throat as he watched his brother lift Bastian off his feet, the younger prince’s eyes squeezed shut with a tear gathered in his lashes.

“That explains the ring,” General Solo muttered to Luke, who hummed in agreement.

“I must apologize for the worry we put you through, Prince Iolo,” Lord Skywalker said contritely, frowning. “Had we known we were escorting your husband, we would have hastened far more.”

Iolo chuckled wetly, opening his eyes glistening with unshed tears and relief. “Thank you, but Bas is not my husband--,”

“He’s the baker,” Poe supplied. Iolo shot a glare in his brother’s direction and Bastian, from where he hung in the younger prince’s arms, held up two fingers.

“Yes, Bastian is the second baker,” Iolo said primly. “If you must use titles, do use the correct ones, Prince Poe.”

“The second baker,” Luke repeated slowly.

“He must make some damn good bread,” Han grumbled, eyeing Iolo and Bastian skeptically.

Iolo laughed in surprise, looping his arms under Bastian, the seventeen-year-old’s legs wrapping around the younger prince’s waist. “His spiced cookies are sublime,” Iolo confirmed with a bright smile. “I don’t have the words or means to thank you both enough. You must tell me how I can possibly repay you.”

“No, no, your highness, that is not necessary in the least,” Luke soothed. “We are only too happy to have been of service.”

“Iolo, may I present Lord Skywalker and General Solo,” Poe stated loudly.

Iolo blinked, his absentminded swaying halting immediately. Bastian let out a breathy sigh, nuzzling his face into the side of the younger prince’s neck, and Iolo burst out laughing.

“My brother has been under some stress recently,” Poe offered over Iolo’s cackling.

“Yes, I gathered that,” Luke agreed, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

“The second baker?!”

“Han, perhaps now is not the time,” Luke suggested softly but firmly.

“I dread to think how they greet the cook,” Han continued unabated, crossing his arms. Luke sighed heavily with a shake of his head, shooting an apologetic look at Iolo, who grinned back widely.

“Oh, there’s a parade for the cook,” the younger prince answered playfully. “Just when I thought today couldn’t get any better. Poe, I trust word has been sent to Finn?”

Poe flushed, realizing his oversight, while Luke’s expression became carefully guarded.

“You know of Finn,” Lord Skywalker asked lowly, looking between the princes.

“Moon and stars, yes, Finn is an old friend of ours,” Iolo piped gleefully. “Further details I will leave to those more intimately involved than I. But I know I needn’t stand on ceremony with you both and that you will excuse me while I attend to Bastian. I’m certain that I will see you soon—perhaps once the king returns? Brother dear, I will leave all arrangements in your no doubt capable hands.”

“Lo,” the heir began only to be cut off quickly.

“Your highness, now is not the time or place for anything you could wish to say to me,” Iolo said flatly. “As you may have noticed, Bastian needs to be seen by a physician. Anything else is of secondary concern to me.” 

With that, the younger prince marched out of the chamber with a quick, “Please have Kalonia meet me in the Blue Room,” to Kaydel as he passed, head high.

_**The Next Day**_

“I’ve made a mess of things,” Poe said to his feet, standing with his hands behind his back.

“No one ever said leading was without pitfalls,” came the level reply, and Poe lifted his head with a pained grimace.

“You never gave orders for your brother’s best friend to be abandoned to slavers and then locked him in the dungeon,” Poe retorted flatly.

King Kes hummed. “Well, I don’t have a brother,” he allowed fairly, but his eldest son shook his head in defeat with a huff. “I think we had better accept that Bastian is more than Iolo’s best friend, don’t you? We must salvage whatever good graces we can at this stage.”

“Father, I don’t think there’s even goodwill towards me—and rightly so,” Poe stated with resignation, sitting at the king’s gesture to a chair. “Between Lo’s martyrdom and Bas’s escape, the entire palace has exultated them to heroes.”

“If only we could use that in our favor with the council,” Kes mused.

“The nobles will never vote to change the law,” Poe sighed, folding his hands together between his knees. “I know Lo can work miracles, but I doubt even he could convince the council to vote against their own interests.”

“And yet he won support for your engagement,” the king pointed out mildly.

“I know one of his lead arguments was that Finn would renounce his claim to the Skywalker name,” Poe countered tiredly. “What such trade could we offer for Lo’s case? Bastian’s spiced cookies?”

Kes chuckled. “I’m more partial to his wildflower cakes. But be that as it may, we owe it to your brother to try.”

“Agreed,” Poe nodded firmly. “If I learned nothing else from this past week, I need Lo. If he were banished, the kingdom might fall apart.”

“In that case, we will focus all our efforts to ensure that fate does not befall us,” Kes said assuredly. Poe’s lips twitched up in a faint smile that did not reach his eyes. The king returned the smile with a gentle one of his own. “Have you spoken with your brother?”

Poe rolled his eyes. “No, I have not been granted that honor. On my last attempt I was told that he was quite busy and that he would call upon me at his earliest convenience.”

There was a distinct snort, and Poe stared at his father incredulously. “I apologize, but I can just hear your brother saying that. Perhaps we will have better luck together. Where are they?”

“The Blue Room in the guest wing,” Poe confirmed, getting to his feet and following his father out of his private chambers. “From the meager details I’ve been permitted, I understand Bastian has a fever, an effect of the ryll presumably.”

“I am not familiar enough with the drug to know,” Kes admitted as he and his eldest son left the private wing of the palace. “I should think there would be a report or two in the library for which we can send.”

“Yes, but Lo has them. The records show he requested them the day before Bas returned,” Poe explained with a sigh.

“There are days I truly admire you and your brother’s resourcefulness,” the king stated with appreciation. “Can I safely assume all the books on slavers are also in Lo’s possession?”

“Of course. He must have been torturing himself, reading those while—well,” Poe trailed off with a swallow. “Finn visited Lo, to try and distract him. I really must thank all the Skywalkers for their help. I don’t know what would’ve happened without them.”

“They do have a knack for that sort of thing, as a clan,” Kes mentioned with a private smile, which did not go unnoticed by his elder son. “I am looking forward to our cozy family supper this evening.”

“You may be the only one,” Poe grumbled darkly, a step behind the king as they ascended to the south wing. “Finn sent word that they will attend if he hasn’t killed Luke in the meantime.” Kes chuckled appreciatively, and the elder prince continued, “I highly doubt Lo will grace us with his presence when he hasn’t left the Blue Room.”

“Have you extended the invitation,” the king asked mildly, acknowledging the quick curtseys of two maids who emerged from one of the vacant guest chambers with armfuls of linens as the monarch and heir passed.

Poe scratched the back of his neck, avoiding his father’s gaze. “I assumed word would reach him through the palace rumor mill,” he admitted grudgingly.

Kes hummed. “Perhaps not the best approach under current circumstances,” the king suggested, accepting his elder son’s deep huff as reply.

As the pair neared the far end of the south wing, the white and gilded door swung in and the court physician stepped into the hall.

“I’ll check in this evening, your highness,” Kalonia said briskly with a nod. “With any luck, Bastian’s fever will break tonight, and we’ll be out of the thicket.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Iolo replied, his face drawn and grim as his brother and parent approached. “I appreciate all your efforts,” he finished, offering his hand.

Kalonia snorted but took the prince’s hand with a press. “Not at all, your highness. Be sure he takes the draught when next he wakes and second dose after his supper. Don’t let him whine his way out of it.”

“I shall steel my will,” Iolo assured with a tired smile, withdrawing his hand and casting a sidelong glance at the observing pair. The doctor followed his gaze, bowed once, and withdrew, following a maid through the servants’ door without a word. 

The younger prince crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, waiting.

“How are you, my dear,” Kes inquired kindly, Poe crossing his arms uncomfortably.

“Fine. And you, your majesty,” Iolo asked stiffly.

“Very well, thank you,” the king answered, casting a conspicuous look over his shoulder at the bustling activity. “Perhaps we should speak inside.”

Iolo scowled and twisted his neck to peek over his shoulder. Poe watched his brother’s shoulders sink in exhale before the younger prince’s blue eyes snapped back to him. “We can speak in the dressing room; I don’t want to disturb Bas,” he allowed lowly, taking a small step backwards into the darkened room.

“In the--,” Poe started skeptically, his mouth shutting at the fierce glower from his brother and disapproving headshake from his father. Gulping, the elder prince nodded and said, “That sounds perfect.”

Iolo ran his glare the length of his brother and said, “Good,” before fully turning and moving away from the open door, not watching for the others to follow.

Kes gestured for Poe to enter first, who did so reluctantly, blinking to adjust to the sudden dimness as the king closed the door behind him. Iolo was silhouetted by a single candle beside the bed, his figure leaning over the pile of pillows and blankets, bracing a hand against the headboard.

“—call if you need me, I won’t be long,” the younger prince was saying softly. There was a muted groan and a rustle of material, and then Iolo straightened, the candlelight catching the glint of his teeth in a flash of a smile. The small smile vanished as Iolo jerked his head towards the wardrobe door, which he pulled open and entered through.

Following with more than a little trepidation, Poe rounded the foot of the bed and sidestepped through the narrow gap his brother had left between the closet door and the doorframe. Once inside, the elder prince breathed, “Whoa,” unknowingly as he took in the sudden illumination of tall candles, open books and scrolls scattered over empty shelves, and abandoned glasses and plates of untouched food stacked on the dressing table.

“Welcome to my study,” Iolo huffed as his father shut the wardrobe’s door, leaving it open a crack, and turned to analyze the setting.

Poe gulped, casting a nervous glance to the king, who bent to touch the neat pile of pillow and blanket on a low vanity stool.

Straightening, the king observed, “You have not been sleeping.”

“Not for some nights, no,” Iolo confirmed blandly.

“How is Bastian fairing,” Kes asked while Poe squinted at an unrolled map of Yavin’s southern border on top of a banquette, held open by two large tomes of ancestry law.

“As well as could be hoped. He was given enough ryll to incapacitate a horse,” Iolo muttered, running a hand across his eyes with a sigh. “The fever is wreaking havoc and he can’t sleep or eat and--,” the younger prince broke off, shaking his head. “But he’s here, and I will gladly have this than the alternative.”

“I am sorry that you had to experience the alternative,” the king stated, and his younger son’s jaw dropped.

“I, um,” Iolo faltered, eyes darting between the two facing him. “Thank you,” he ground out finally. “You’re the first of the family to say so.”

Poe rolled his eyes. “I seem to recall being told anything other than Bastian’s health was unimportant to you,” he drawled. “Was I meant to barge in while he convalesced?”

“I beg your pardon, but how could I have possibly guessed you were being considerate?”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Kes interjected, voice hard. “If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times: you are brothers. There is no one in the world who can support you like the other.”

“Or hurt you,” Iolo added gloomily, ducking his head with an exhausted sigh.

Poe winced, and Kes cleared his throat. “Poe, may I have a moment alone with your brother,” the king murmured softly.

“Of course,” Poe acquiesced instantly. Reaching out, he squeezed his brother’s shoulder tightly. “Later, Lo?”

Iolo sniffed with a nod, gripping his brother’s wrist in reply. “Later. You can wait in the hall.”

“I will,” the elder prince agreed with an upward quirk of his lips. Accepting a quick pat on the back from the king, Poe edged his way out of the dressing room. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tight tension as he carefully made his way towards the bedchamber’s door. At the foot of the bed, a distinct moan of pain emitted from the blankets and Poe changed course to take the place previously occupied by his brother. “Well now, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Can’t,” groaned Bastian, his eyes narrowed and sweat gathered at his hairline. “Too hot.”

“I can readily believe it; you swathed in enough blankets to smother,” Poe jested lightly, carefully drawing back layer after layer of blanket and down comforter, leaving only a sheet tucked around the seventeen-year-old. Noting the contents of the bedside table, the elder prince deftly folded a handkerchief and dipped it into the shallow basin of cool water, melting chips of ice floating across the surface. Gently, Poe laid the damp cloth on Bastian’s alarmingly warm forehead.

Bastian sighed with relief, his eyes shutting.

Poe smiled gently, wiping away a trickle of sweat from the bridge of the seventeen-year-old’s nose. “While you’re awake, you had better take this draught. Oh, is that how it is,” Poe chuckled at Bastian’s long, drawn-out whine. “You won’t pull those tricks with me, Bas.”

“Don’t want it,” the seventeen-year-old muttered, opening his eyes wide in pleading. “Tastes rancid.”

“Does it,” Poe asked rhetorically, lifting the glass vial and sniffing. With a slight gag, the elder prince went on, “Well, it will help with your fever. You can’t tell me you would rather feel like this longer than drink the medicine.”

Bastian pouted, his eyes watery. “Mean,” he whispered. 

“I’m mean? Yes, I suppose I am because I intend to watch you swallow this,” Poe stated with a grin, which widened at the teenager’s moist and stuffy sniffle. “Come now, Bas, you must see how worried Lo is. You don’t want that, do you?” Bastian frowned and shook his head. “Lo won’t rest until he knows you are on the mend,” Poe pointed out honestly.

Bastian groaned, tossing his head away from the elder prince before rolling back with a grimace. “Give me,” he rasped coarsely, holding up a limp hand.

“You best let me help you,” Poe countered calmly, sitting on the edge of the bed and carefully wrapping an arm around the seventeen-year-old’s narrow shoulders. With too little effort, the prince lifted Bastian up from the pillows. “I recommend taking this as quickly as possible,” Poe advised. Bastian nodded glumly, inhaling deeply before parting his lips and the prince tilted the small bottle’s contents over the teenager’s tongue. “Well done, you,” the prince praised as Bastian swallowed and sputtered, coughing against Poe’s shirt sleeve.

Catching his breath, the teenager shut his eyes and rested his weight against the elder prince. Poe kept still, waiting until Bastian’s breaths slowed and evened. Easing the teenager down to the pillows, Poe slowly stood, placing the empty vial on the table, and jerking back in surprise at his brother’ and father’s observing gazes.

“Um. Well,” Poe started, brain scrambling for something to say. “Is this not the hallway?”

Iolo cracked a smile. “Can you come by in three hours and do that again,” the younger prince asked with a hint of teasing.

Poe laughed in surprise. “If I do, will you join us for dinner in four hours?”

Iolo’s smile quivered for a breath, glancing to Kes at his side. “If I can find someone to keep an eye on Bas, you have a deal,” he allowed.

“In that case, I look forward to seeing you at supper,” the king said cheeringly.

_**Four Hours Later**_

“Well, it’s good to see you haven’t killed him,” Poe said with a smile.

“It is not yet outside the realm of possibility,” Finn replied darkly, his glare aimed at where his father, Han, and the king were bent in conversation by the tall windows. “I told him if he hadn’t come sauntering back with Bas, his body would be hidden in the granary by now.”

Poe gulped nervously. “You don’t mean it, do you?”

Shifting his gaze to the elder prince, Finn snorted. “I wouldn’t have the wherewithal, but a man can dream,” he joked, bumping his shoulder gently against Poe’s. “Don’t look so worried; I wasn’t picturing you under the granary as well.”

“That’s some relief,” Poe allowed hesitantly. “I would prefer if you wouldn’t picture me deceased at all, but I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

Finn smiled, crossing his arms. “I’ll leave your fate in Lo’s hands. He told me not to be too angry with you, not that it is as simple as that--,”

“Did he,” Poe asked, shocked. “When did he tell you that?”

“After he had convinced me not to go charging off to find Bastian,” Finn answered offhandedly, accepting a glass of sparkling wine from the butler with a nod. “Which he was perfectly right to do,” he continued as Poe clenched his jaw. “I would have only been in the way or a distraction to the knights. And all’s well since Bas is home.”

“You don’t mean to say you were--,”

“What a charming gathering,” announced Iolo, striding into the vaulted room through a servant door concealed behind a panel mirror, interrupting his brother unknowingly. The younger prince was dressed simply in a light blue silk shirt and unadorned fawn breeches, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Shooting a quick grin to Finn, who adjusted his starched collar in discomfort, Iolo crossed the room briskly with a bright, “My lord, General Solo, it’s wonderful to see you both again.”

“Stars, I envy him,” Finn murmured to Poe, the pair watching as the younger prince shook hands with Luke and received a clap on the shoulder from Han. “How Lo can always appear in control never ceases to amaze me.”

“Iolo can always rise to the occasion,” Poe agreed with admiration, shrugging out of his tight white jacket. “We should follow his lead.”

“Well enough for you; this shirt will look ridiculous without the jacket,” Finn grumbled as Poe helped him maneuver out of his own blue jacket. “Come, we’ll face our demons together.”

“Lo is not my demon,” Poe sighed, following, discarding their jackets on a divan as they passed. “He is my conscience.”

“I do my humble best,” Iolo answered unexpectedly from where he stood beside the king. He smirked as the elder prince rolled his eyes, waiting until the pair drew closer before saying, “Imitation is a form of flattery, is it not?”

“I see no reason why you should get to be the only comfortable one here,” Poe shot back with a shrug.

“Is Bas doing any better since your last missive,” Finn asked, and Iolo laughed brightly, although his brother noticed the slight tightening around his blue eyes.

“Your father was asking me the same,” the younger prince said. “I’m beginning to think I ought to have sent Bastian down in my place.”

“Is he well enough to join us,” Luke asked brightly, ignoring the puzzled exchange of looks between the king and his heir.

Snorting, Han added, without irony, “We could dine in his room.”

“Um,” Poe began hesitantly, but Iolo smoothly interjected,

“I’m sure he would enjoy that, but I left him dozing under the influence of a high fever. Perhaps after dinner we will see if Bas can manage a few visitors.”

Luke hummed, considering. “We would all understand if your attention is needed elsewhere.”

“Thank you, but I mean to keep my end of the bargain,” Iolo responded with a nod to his brother. “Besides, Bastian is well-tended. No fewer than three knights were minding him when I left, assuring me I would be sent for if needed.” The younger prince’s gaze shifted over Poe’s shoulder and continued with forced brightness, “For now, however, let us turn our thoughts to lighter matters. General, may I have the privilege of your company? I have heard stories of you the width and breadth of the realm, and I must know if there is any truth to them.”

The king smiled proudly as his younger son offered the gruff, warworn soldier an effortless bow and grin. Kes caught Luke’s gaze and winked knowingly.

“I’ll wager you’ve heard nothing by lies,” Han replied with a smirk.

“Indeed? I am sorry to hear that; I hoped you could enlighten me on how you completed the Kessel Run with only one old horse, but if that’s not the case--,”

“Now, hold on, young pup,” Han interrupted briskly, “I’ll have you know that it was a good horse, and what’s more no one should need more than one if they have any skill!”

“I’m afraid I am an indifferent rider myself,” Iolo said apologetically with a seemingly ashamed smile. “Perhaps you could give me a few tips over dinner?”

“If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t believe it,” Luke murmured in a low undertone to the king as, hours later, the dinner plates were removed smoothly and silently by six footmen, while three more brought in additional tall, lit candles. “I never would have thought Han could be so easily charmed.”

“Iolo has wonderful address,” Kes acknowledged indulgently, observing the animated pair over the rim of his wineglass. Iolo pointed to one of the ten bread rolls, laid in phalanx formation, only to sit back in amused abashment as Han smacked to indicated roll off the table and started rearranging the remaining nine. “I am glad that Han can offer some distraction for him, at least for a short time.”

Luke hummed softly, casting a quick glance to his son, satisfied that Finn and the elder prince were paying no attention to the antics, engaged instead in soft, somewhat tense discussion. “I understand that your youngest has been—shall we say—under some duress recently.”

Kes sighed, stroking his short beard, watching as the footmen withdrew to retrieve the next course, before replying, “I regret to say he has. Unfortunately, I do not foresee his path becoming smoother in the immediate future.”

“Would that be a reflection of Bastian’s condition or…something else,” Luke inquired, raising his left brow meaningfully. “Perhaps something that also concerns a certain baker?”

“Exactly so,” the king nodded slightly, slowly swirling the remaining wine around his glass. “Now is not the time for him to worry about that, however, when he has more pressing matters at hand.”

“You may be right,” Luke allowed lightly. “I fear he won’t follow your sensible advice.”

Kes chuckled tiredly. “You know my son very well.”

“No. I know you very well,” Luke corrected simply, “and how you would no doubt raise your children.”

Kes shook his head, a slight frown creasing his eyes, when the door to the royal family’s private dining room opened and Sir Wexley bowed over the threshold.

Instantly, Iolo rose to his feet. “What happened,” he asked urgently, his hand resting on the table curling into a fist.

“My apologies, your majesty,” Snap directed to the king before turning to the younger prince. “You asked to be informed if Kalonia was sent for, your highness.”

Iolo inhaled harshly, his lips thinning. “Thank you, I’ll be there in a moment. Please excuse me, General,” he continued, turning back to the table as the knight withdrew, “I hope we can continue our discussion at a later date.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Han stated, jerking his chin to the open door. “Go check on your second baker.”

Iolo’s terse expression eased slightly. “Thank you, sir, I will. How would you stop a flanking maneuver,” he asked, pointing at the gap in the bread roll formation, causing Han to mutter,

“Impertinent pup,” affectionately as the younger prince moved to leave.

“I’m coming with you,” Finn announced, getting to his feet.

“He—won’t be himself,” Iolo warned, running a hand through his hair. “The fever--,”

“I’m coming with you, Lo,” Finn repeated firmly. Iolo scanned the other’s set jaw and nodded once.

“He’ll be happy to see you, if he recognizes you,” the younger prince allowed with grim acceptance. “Follow me.”

“No need to wait for me,” Finn told Luke off-handedly as he hurried after the blonde, drawing the door closed behind him without looking back.

There was a brief, suspended moment of silence. Then

“Should we convene the war council now or wait for dessert?”

“War council? What are you talking about,” Poe asked bewildered, blinking at the general, who smirked back.

Luke sat back, lacing his fingers together over his chest. “I’m perfectly willing, if there are no objections,” he said cheerfully. “We will need all the time we have to devise a course of action.”

“If you and Han would like to include us in your scheming, we would be most obliged,” Kes drawled, sitting back in his seat and gesturing for Poe to move closer.

“Why, what we are to do about Iolo and Bastian, of course,” Luke answered with an easy shrug. “We shall have to work quickly if we are to have a chance of avoiding something unfortunate.”

Poe, lowering himself into his brother’s abandoned seat beside Han, shot an uncertain grimace at his father. “I admit that something must be done—we were discussing so earlier,” the elder prince admitted cautiously. “But I don’t think it is as urgent as that.”

Luke and Han exchanged loaded looks. The general pointed at his lordship, who snorted and leaned forward with a pitying expression trained on the prince.

“Are you well-acquainted with your brother, Poe,” Luke inquired mildly with honest curiosity.

“Better than anyone else in the world,” Poe retorted with a scowl, affronted.

“Then I’m sure I do not need to tell you that he is a man of action,” Luke stated, meeting the prince’s glare with exasperated amusement. “From everything I have heard and seen of Iolo, I cannot imagine that he will sit quietly and wait. I would not be at all surprised to hear if he took drastic action as soon as Bastian is well.”

“Which means we have until the boy’s fever breaks and he is on the mend to come up with something,” Han added matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. “I don’t wish ryll on anyone, but at least it buys us some time.”

Poe gulped, eyeing his father nervously. “Didn’t Kalonia say she hoped the fever broke tonight?”

“Yes,” Kes drew out hesitantly. “Still, I’m sure Iolo will not do anything rash, particularly if he feels responsible for Bastian’s well-being.”

Luke hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a valid point. Time may yet be on our side, so long as nothing occurs to upset the balance.”

“Would a ball for Lo’s coming of age fall under that category,” Poe questioned nervously, his heart beating fast with escalating alarm.

“Stars, don’t tell me that’s upcoming,” Han grumbled, rubbing a hand down the length of his face. “When is it?”

“Five days’ time,” the king answered with foreboding. “There isn’t time to retract the invitations.”

“Then we have five days,” Luke said definitively. “To start, are we quite sure there is no nobility in Bastian’s ancestry? A distant uncle perhaps?”

“His father was a stableman and his mother was a gardener. They were war orphans from the northern border.” Three surprised gazes turned towards the elder prince, who rolled his eyes. “Despite recent evidence to the contrary, I _do_ listen.”

The king smiled at his elder son, who shrugged in response.

“We could lie,” Han suggested practically.

“We would need a Certificate of Legacy,” Luke groused, cushioning his cheek against his fist. “There is also the Register to consider. Which reminds me,” he continued, turning to Kes, “was Finn formally recorded?”

“Yes, but we had to move heavens and earth to do so,” Kes answered, massaging his temple with a small scowl. “The Registrar would have refused outright if not for Finn’s certificate. As it was, Iolo crafted one fantastic ruse after another for why Finn could not be presented and recorded upon his eighteenth birthday.”

“The Registrar didn’t believe a single one,” Poe recalled with a half-smile, “but Lo wore her down, as he does.”

“I must offer my thanks to him, when the timing is conducive,” Luke sighed with a shake of his head. “Be that as it may, if we cannot work within the current laws, we will have to change them.”

“Then we’ll have to try our hand with the council,” Han grimaced, exhaling heavily through his nose. “We’ll need something to bargain.”

“I hope you are prepared for a late night,” Luke directed to the two members of the royal family, somewhat apologetically.

“I can be here all night,” Poe said grimly, folding his hands together on the table.

Which proved to be an accurate prediction, as it was nearly dawn when Finn crept into the dining room, dimly lit by the dying embers in the fireplace and the few lasting candles. With tired and dry eyes, he scanned the four slouching and slumping figures seated around the table, snores and deep breathing the only sounds filling the room.

Walking on the balls of his feet, Finn slowly made his way to his fiancé, reaching out to shake Poe’s shoulder once he was near enough.

With a sleepy groan, the elder prince blinked awake, rubbing his right cheek that had been resting on the dining table and squinting up at Finn.

“Whu—oh,” Poe breathed, sitting up straight. “What—how is Bas?” Finn swallowed, staring down into the prince’s dark eyes before his knees buckled and Finn slumped back against the table with a deep, exhausted groan, his hands over his face. “Stars, don’t--,” Poe stammered, jumping to his feet and wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist. “Stars and moon, what is it? Is he…?”

“No, no,” Finn gulped, dropping his hands and resting his forehead on the prince’s clavicle. “He’s—alive. He’s sleeping now. Moon, Poe, I never—it was awful. And Lo—he—I couldn’t—he wouldn’t _breathe_ and--,”

“Wait, Finn, I don’t understand,” Poe interrupted urgently, frantically, ducking his head to catch the other’s gaze. “Bastian is alive, but what’s wrong with Lo?”

Finn shook his head, wincing. “He was beside himself. There was a moment—we didn’t know if Bas would make it, and Lo…I never saw anything like it. Poe, I thought we were about to lose them both.”

Jaw hanging loose, Poe stared in horror, glancing at his father, relieved to see the king asleep at the head of the table. “Alright, it’s alright now,” Poe murmured, drawing Finn into a tight embrace. “They’ll both be fine, Finn. The worst is over now.”

“Stars, I pray that’s true,” Finn mumbled, his breath warm puffs against Poe’s neck. “After the past week, I don’t think they can handle another disaster.”

Poe hummed mindlessly, running his palm up and down Finn’s spine, meeting Luke’s piercing look with a determined one of his own.

_**Two Days Later**_

Bastian squeezed his eyes closed, his breaths coming in shallow puffs from the small excursion as he splashed cool water over his face. Blindly, he gripped the ledge of the sink tightly with one hand as he reached out for the facecloth he knew to be laying near. When his fingers touched fabric, Bastian tugged, humming questioningly when he met with resistance. Eyes shut, he leaned to the side, dragging the smooth cloth across his eyes and then down his cheeks, wiping his chin before blinking his eyes open.

“Better, bug,” Iolo asked teasingly, glancing down at where Bastian’s hand was clutching his shirt, now smeared with wet patches. With an embarrassed grimace, the seventeen-year-old released his hold on the prince, only for his knees tremble as the water closet spun dangerously around him. “No, no, none of that,” Iolo went on, his arms quickly encircling Bastian’s waist and steadying him. “Back to bed with you, I think.”

Embarrassment instantly gave way to exasperation as Bastian allowed the prince to lift him off his feet, the second baker’s legs draped over Iolo’s right arm, his left supporting the younger man’s back. “I can walk,” he pointed out drily as Iolo sidestepped out of the water closet.

“Of course you can, bug,” the prince agreed mildly, crossing the expanse of the bedroom, carefully stepping over scattered books and scrolls.

“How long were you watching me,” Bastian asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Iolo’s chest shook with laughter, the corners of his mouth lifting.

“When I woke up and saw you weren’t in bed. I thought we agreed you wouldn’t do that anymore,” Iolo mentioned lightly, lowering the seventeen-year-old to the mattress, his back propped against the mound of pillows.

“You needed the sleep,” Bastian shrugged, watching Iolo retrieve the crumpled sheet from the foot of the bed. “Honestly, Lo, when you’re not watching me like a hawk--,”

“The thanks I get,” Iolo mumbled, rolling his eyes as he flicked the white sheet up the bed and over Bastian’s bent knees.

“—you’re reading every book ever written,” the second baker finished, undaunted, gesturing wildly to the literature covering every surface of the guest room.

“Not quite every book,” the prince mentioned with a smile, hands on his hips. “You don’t need to worry about me, Bas. Of the two of us, you’re the one who needs to be resting.”

Bastian frowned sternly, and Iolo raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“Don’t play me off like that, Lo,” Bastian stated firmly, crossing his arms. The prince ducked his head with a snort, his smile still evident as the younger man tilted his face to catch Iolo’s gaze. “Something’s worrying you, right?”

“Yes,” Iolo allowed, meeting Bastian’s searching look. “ _You_ are worrying me. I dare not close my eyes for fear that you will run off to bake sugar towers.”

“You don’t bake sugar towers—you craft them,” Bastian corrected mindlessly.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Iolo chuckled, moving to the dark blue armchair beside the bed, picking up one of the discarded books as he sat.

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“And you’re being very disobliging by not falling for it,” Iolo muttered grumpily, flicking through the pages to find his spot.

“What are you looking for,” Bastian asked forthright, drawing himself up on quivering arms.

“Lie down,” the prince ordered immediately, blue eyes hard, but the second baker shook his head.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Lo.”

“Nothing that need concern you. Lie down this instant, Bas,” Iolo shot back, making to stand when Bastian’s strength gave way and he collapsed into the pillows.

“Damn it,” the seventeen-year-old hissed, teeth clenched in frustration. There was a soft rustle and then the mattress dipped, the prince’s face hovering above Bastian’s, brow creased with worry. “I hate feeling this weak and—useless,” Bastian admitted, blinking against the pressure gathering behind his eyes.

“I know,” Iolo soothed, reaching out and rubbing his thumb gently over the scab covering the younger man’s temple. “It breaks my heart to see you like this, Bas. You know it does,” he murmured softly, frowning as he watched Bastian’s eyes well with moisture. “That’s why I—I want to take care of this one thing for you. I couldn’t help you when you were taken--,”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Bastian countered wetly, sniffing.

“We won’t start that argument now,” the prince sighed with a sad smile. “But I wasn’t there. And there was nothing I could do when you were sick. Now—this—what I’m looking for now is something that can help you—us—later, and I want to do this for you. Will you let me?”

Bastian rubbed the heels of his palms roughly over his eyes, sniffing again. “I don’t want you killing yourself over—whatever it is,” he managed around the lump in his throat.

“That was be counterproductive, wouldn’t it,” Iolo assented, his smile wavering slightly. “How about this? We will both try to mind our health. If you agree that you need more time to recover, then I will take care to not overexert myself. Do we have a deal, bug?”

With a gulp and a nod, Bastian breathed, “Deal.”

“Thank you,” Iolo whispered in reply, his fingertips skimming Bastian’s cheek as he sat up.

“But I decide when you’re overexerting yourself,” the seventeen-year-old added swiftly with a fierce glint in his eyes.

Iolo was still bent double in laughter when there was a knock on the bedchamber’s door and Bastian called out, allowing entrance.

“Well, now, what a welcoming sound,” Poe said bracingly, stopping just within the Blue Room, his hand resting on the doorknob. “Up to your old tricks, Bas?”

“As always,” Iolo confirmed, nestling his hand in Bastian’s curls and giving him a small shake. “You’ve won this round, but don’t think I won’t retaliate in kind, bug.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Poe grinned. “You’ll be up and causing havoc in no time, I’ll wager.”

“Perhaps not quite so soon,” the younger prince hedged, eyeing Bastian warily. “Isn’t that right, Bas?”

“We have a deal,” Bastian replied promptly, eliciting a snort from the elder prince and an eyeroll from the younger.

“Did you need something,” Iolo directed to his brother, absentmindedly leaving his hand buried on the seventeen-year-old’s hair.

Pretending not to notice, Poe said, “Father would like to have a word with you—if you’re free, of course.”

Iolo frowned but Bastian quickly and blithely answered, “He’s free. He’s free now.”

“I—would rather wait for Snap to return from his watch,” the younger prince said carefully. “He minds Bas when I need to step away,” he elaborated with an apologetic grimace for his brother.

“Poe can mind me,” Bastian offered with a winning smile.

“Can I,” Poe asked dubiously.

“Can he,” Iolo echoed, equally uncertain.

“Yes, of course,” Bastian stated decisively, adding a nod as the two princes blinked at him. “At least until Snap comes by. Which won’t be too long now. And I’ll stay in bed, promise, Lo,” he finished in a rush with an innocent simper.

Slowly, Iolo rose to his feet, his eyes studying the seventeen-year-old’s upturned face. “I suppose that would be fine. If Poe has no other engagement.”

Bastian quickly turned a pleading expression on the elder prince, who swallowed and said, “Nothing pressing. It’s no problem at all, Lo.”

“Fine, but listen to me, Bas, if you try to leave that bed--,”

“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to,” Bastian groused with an exaggerated pout.

Iolo shook his head with a fond smile, muttering to his brother as he passed, “Don’t let him do anything foolish.”

“I won’t,” Poe pledged before closing the door behind the younger prince. Turning back to the bed’s occupant he asked, “Now, why did you want to get rid of Lo?”

“I don’t want to get rid of Lo,” Bastian countered sharply, and Poe held up his hands in surrender. Dropping his eyes to his lap, Bastian made a show of picking at the sheet over his knees. “I—I’m scared he’s driving himself crazy in here.”

“Whatever gave you that impression,” Poe asked jokingly, crossing the bedchamber and picking up two of the books balanced on the mantle. “I was wondering where these were,” he mumbled to himself.

“He’s so worried about—well, you know,” Bastian sighed, glancing up through his lashes as Poe’s head quickly swiveled in his direction.

“How did you hear about that,” Poe demanded, frowning.

“Does it matter,” Bastian inquired, meeting the elder prince’s gaze levelly.

Poe gnawed on his bottom lip in thought before heaving a deep sigh and setting the books aside. “I suppose not, but I wish to stars you hadn’t. It’s bad enough that Lo is running himself ragged over it without you worrying too.”

“Is it—is it really that bad? Isn’t there anything I can do,” Bastian asked nervously.

“No, of course there isn’t,” Poe dismissed tiredly. “And I don’t want you blaming yourself. It has nothing to do with you, personally. The law was created in a different time, and if it weren’t for the nobles’ self-interest it would have been revoked long ago.”

Bastian ducked his head again, mind racing. “But the law—it states…”

“Trust me, I know it by heart,” Poe huffed, taking Iolo’s place in the armchair as Bastian trailed off. “I must have read it a thousand times in the past few days. I know it seems dire, but I promise you, my father and I, as well as the Skywalkers, are spending every waking moment trying to think up a solution.”

“But the law,” Bastian repeated faintly, his voice lilting in question.

“Yes, but what is the point of a law if not to break it,” Poe offered with a soft smile. “And I can think of no law more worthy of being broken than this one. There is no reason in the world that a royal should not marry a commoner,” he stated firmly. “I believe that to be true, as does the king. What’s more, that the punishment should be banishment is dramatic beyond belief.”

Bastian’s eyes bulged in alarm, which was missed as Sir Wexley begged entrance and Poe stood to be relieved of his duty, grateful for the respite as he recalled that he was meant to meet Finn in the library for another round of research.

Which was precisely where Iolo found his brother not an hour later when he flung open the door and stormed across the time-smoothed stone floor to grab the elder prince by the arms and shake him roughly.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking,” Iolo shouted, his face twisted in fury, nostrils flared. “How _dare_ you tell Bas about the law!”

Finn jumped to his feet, the scroll in his hands falling to the floor from his lax grasp. “No, Lo, he wouldn’t—he’s been with me!”

“No, he hasn’t,” Iolo snarled, his fingers digging into Poe’s biceps as his brother tried to struggle away. “He was _ever so obliging_ to watch Bas and scare him senseless.”

“He already knew,” Poe countered, finally wrenching himself free and quickly moving to place the small desk between himself and Iolo.

“He knew _nothing_ of it,” the younger prince spat back, his chest heaving.

“Yes, he did. He told me—he was talking about it _with_ me,” Poe emphasized.

“Oh, was he,” Iolo scoffed, slamming his fist down on the desk, Poe and Finn flinching as the sound reverberated around the library. “When I left, he had no idea. Either you told him or he learned how to read legal documentation before Snap arrived!”

“Someone else told him,” Poe snapped back, crossing his arms, meeting the blue-eyes glare with a glower of his own. “He was the one who brought it up.”

“Poe,” Finn began, slowly, suspiciously, “what exactly did Bas say when he brought it up?”

Poe rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up. “He said that Lo was driving himself crazy about the law--,”

“Are you certain,” Iolo asked sharply, expression pinched. “Did he say _the law_?”

“Yes,” Poe shot back exasperated. “He said--,” the elder prince broke off, his eyes widening as he recalled the scene. “Stars and moon,” he breathed, defeated, running a hand the length of his face.

“Bastian played you for a fool, and you wore the part perfectly,” Iolo sneered before he slumped forward, bracing his arms against the lip of the desk. “It’s not fair,” he continued, softer, tired. “He’s not even eighteen yet. He shouldn’t be worrying about any of this.”

Finn winced at the crack in the younger’s prince’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Lo,” he murmured, approaching the blonde cautiously and tentatively placing his hand on Iolo’s bowed shoulder. “How bad is it?”

Iolo shook his head, not allowing Finn to catch his eye. “I can’t—he won’t listen to me,” he admitted in a hush, so quietly Poe had to strain to hear. “I told him the banishment meant nothing to me but--,”

“What,” Finn asked alarmed, shooting a nervous glance to the elder prince who had moved to stand on Iolo’s other side.

Iolo snorted. “If it was only my banishment, I would accept it now and be done with it,” the younger prince stated calmly. “I have friends—connections—who I can rely on. But Bas? He knows nowhere else, no one else. I don’t want him to have to choose between the only home he’s known and—and me,” he finished with a choke.

Poe hummed, draping his arm around his brother’s waist and tugged until Iolo relented and slouched into the elder for support. Poe pressed his lips against the crown of the blonde’s head and said, “I never meant to hurt you again.”

The younger prince huffed a breathy, weak chuckle. “Bas is too clever for you,” he mumbled in reply.

“Clearly,” Poe accepted before inhaling deeply. “I also told him that Father is on his side. Did that not ease his mind at all?”

“No, why should it? You might as well have said the sun wants to help,” Iolo shook his head. “He decided it was hopeless before I even spoke to him and had devised a number of heinous plans to marry me off _acceptably_.”

“Of course he has,” Finn sighed, rolling his eyes. “You know he doesn’t mean it, don’t you?”

“I’m not the idiot of the family,” the younger prince answered without any heat, even as he rested his head on his brother’s shoulder. “One look at his face was all I needed, if I had any doubt before. But what does that matter when I have nothing but empty assurances to offer?”

Finn grimaced over Iolo’s bowed head at Poe, shrugging helplessly. Poe nodded with a wince of his own.

“Who would have thought? I was ready to swear there was nothing harder than marrying a Skywalker,” Poe joked, attempting to lighten the mood, and receiving a glare from his fiancé and a slight laugh from his brother.

“I would rather face the Registrar again then all this,” Iolo stated looking up at his brother with clear exhaustion.

“That’s saying something, isn’t it, Finn? Finn,” Poe repeated, questioning, running his eyes over his fiancé, who was standing stock-still, staring at Poe in wonder. “What is it?”

Iolo rounded on Finn, grimacing. “What now—I can’t take another--,”

“No! No, no, no, no,” Finn said quickly, an overly bright and wide smile lifting his face, coupled with a manic glint in his eyes. “I—I need to check on Bas. But don’t you dare give up hope, Lo,” he said fiercely before sprinting out of the library, leaving Poe and Iolo leaning on each other in utter confusion.

“Thank the stars,” Sir Wexley groaned heartfelt as Finn barged into the Blue Room, panting from his dash through the palace. “Please talk some sense into Bastian,” the knight implored, releasing his hold in the second baker’s shoulders and stepping away from the bed. “And make it very clear that if he even attempts to so much as peek outside of this room, I will place a guard at every door, window, and gate on the premises and I don’t care if it oversteps my authority,” Snap said pointedly with a stern scowl down at the bed’s occupant.

“Bas, when is your birthday,” Finn demanded, slamming the door shut behind him.

Snap’s eyes widened and a vein in his forehead pulsed visibly. “That’s it?! I’m trying to stop Bas from fleeing the castle and all you can do is ask about his _birthday_?”

Finn crossed the room, ignoring the knight’s contemptuous disbelief in favor of lifting Bastian’s face to his, his thumbs smudging the tear tracks marring the younger man’s cheeks. “I’m not giving up, Bas; don’t tell me you are,” he beseeched softly.

“Lo can’t,” Bastian hiccupped, his scared eyes searching Finn’s. “I can’t let Lo do it—he doesn’t deserve that, Finn!”

“Neither of you deserve this,” Finn agreed instantly. “Now, when is your birthday, Bas?”

Snap let out a pained moan, turning away from the bed, while Bastian gulped a deep breath and answered with a steady, “It’s the day after Lo’s ball. He—Lo said he’d make sure to visit me at midnight.”

“Stars,” Finn breathed. “Bas, I have a plan.”

Bastian stared. “A plan—for my birthday?”

Finn snorted and shook his head. “Not exactly. I know how you can marry Lo and no one will be banished.”

Bastian’s jaw dropped and Sir Wexley rounded on the pair seated on the bed.

“Will it serve,” the knight asked frantically. “I won’t have any more nonsense in this room today—I’ve had it up to here with the lot of you.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think it would work,” Finn countered flatly. “But we will need to move fast, and I’ll need your help, Snap.”

“Anything,” the knight replied immediately.

“Thank you,” Finn nodded briskly. “Now, Bas, listen to me carefully—I need to you focus on building up your strength in the next three days. Lo mustn’t suspect anything. You will tell him that I talked some sense into you--,”

“Only you,” Snap asked blandly.

Finn winked. “That I and Snap talked you around. Don’t let him worry—you know how to steer his attention,” he hinted and Bastian nodded with a small rueful smile. “Good. I will come to visit tomorrow once I have time to arrange things on my end. Snap, I’ll send you word and do whatever necessary to ensure Lo isn’t here when I come.”

“I can arrange some emergency,” the knight said with certainty.

“Perfect. I have to go now, but--,”

“Wait,” Bastian blurted, grabbing Finn’s sleeve as he made to pull away. “You haven’t said the plan.”

“No, and I won’t either,” Finn retorted flatly. “You can’t lie to Lo to save your life, Bas. And I’m not entirely sure that Snap wouldn’t be held for treason if he were to lie to the royal family.”

“I would, but I would also like a bit more information,” Snap said bluntly.

“You’ll have it when you need it,” Finn assured easily. “And both of you will be shocked how obvious the answer was and yet we never thought of it.”

“How did you think of it, then,” the knight queried, crossing his arms.

“Truthfully, Poe gave me the idea.”

“We’re doomed,” Bastian groaned pitifully, flopping back into the pillows.

“Don’t start that,” Finn laughed, tweaking his friend’s earlobe playfully. “He gave me the idea but it’s my plan.”

“Well, we have half a chance in that case,” Snap grumbled, accepting the light smack on his arm from the kingdom’s heir’s affianced before Finn left with a quick,

“Remember, don’t do anything until you hear from me.”

_**Three Days Later**_

Iolo sighed to himself, giving his reflection a final once-over before shaking his head and turning away. He let himself out of his chamber, tugging on the cuff of his shirt, rotating his shoulder against his tight dress jacket as he marched across the royal family’s private wing. Retracing his steps from only an hour earlier, Iolo ground his teeth as he observed the final preparations underway for the night: footmen hurrying across the formal entry, maids scurrying to and fro with arms full of platers or linens, and the chamberlain in the center of it all, directing the proceedings.

With quick, light steps, Iolo hurried up to the south wing, where each door was open for a final airing before the guests arrived, except for the one at the far end of the hall. The prince strode over and opened the closed door without ceremony.

Sir Wexley scrambled to his feet as Iolo entered, his blue eyes instantly falling to the empty bed. “He’s here,” Snap declared quickly and unprompted. “He wanted to wash his hair.”

Iolo hummed. “Did he indeed,” he asked blandly. “I’ll check for myself, if you don’t mind,” he continued, starting for the shut water closet door.

“Of course, your highness,” Snap agreed loudly, bowing low and knocking a glass off the bedside table, which smashed over the wood floor.

“Are you quite well, Snap,” the prince inquired, just as Bastian slipped out of the water closet, shutting the door behind him.

“If he’s tired, it served him right,” Bastian retorted with a scowl. “Snap has done nothing but harass me since he arrived.”

Iolo glanced at the knight, who was training an undisguised glare at the second baker. “Sir Wexley, would you please give us a moment?” The prince watched, amused, as the knight slowly left the Blue Room, his eyes never leaving Bastian until the door shut. “Bug, have you been tormenting Snap?”

Bastian blinked his eyes wide. “I would never,” he disavowed, his eyelashes fluttering, and Iolo smirked.

“I’m happy to hear it,” the prince drawled, unconvinced. “Perhaps if you hadn’t threatened to run away, he wouldn’t be quite so—shall we say—attentive?”

“I only mentioned it _once_ ,” Bastian stressed, pouting. “I promised you I wouldn’t. Finn told me that wouldn’t solve anything.”

“It wouldn’t,” Iolo confirmed firmly. “And I have promised you that I will fix this for you. If it weren’t for this damn ball--,”

“You have to go to the ball,” Bastian insisted quickly.

“So I have been told, many times,” the prince grumbled drily, taking Bastian’s hands in his. “I will attend because I cannot think how to avoid it without embarrassing my father. I would much prefer to spend the evening with you.”

“You must be sick of me,” Bastian teased, squeezing Iolo’s fingers tightly. “You’ve spent every evening with me for nearly a week now.”

“I hope to spend many, many more in your company, Bas,” Iolo replied, lifting their joined hands and pressing a soft kiss to the back of Bastian’s left then right hand. He kept his eyes lowered, listening to a slight catch in the second baker’s breathing. “There’s so much more I want to tell you,” he said softly, returning the desperate grasp on his fingers with equal strength. “And I shall. Tomorrow,” the prince pledged.

“Tomorrow,” Bastian repeated breathlessly. Iolo raised his gaze in time to see Bastian’s wistful expression before it was quickly masked by an impish smile. “But first, let me have a look at you. You know I have the best taste,” the seventeen-year-old joked with forced lightness. Bastian took a small step back, looking over the prince’s form, and Iolo obligingly held out his arms with an indulgent smile. “You clean up well.”

“What a flatterer,” Iolo chuckled, using his grip to steer the younger man towards the bed.

“I like the pink stitching,” Bastian continued, his grin widening. “It looks very romantic.”

“You must save your compliments for Finn,” Iolo said, catching a glimpse of himself in the far mirror, indifferently observing the pale blue jacket with intricate embroidery forming swirls and starbursts. “He gave the design to the tailor.”

“I will,” Bastian nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed without further urging. “Will you try to have fun tonight?” The prince offered no comment. “Lo, you deserve to enjoy your own ball.”

Iolo snorted, shaking his head. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“Honestly, Lo,” the seventeen-year-old pressed urgently. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll even let Snap stare at me.”

“I’ll talk to Snap about his staring,” Iolo reassured with a smirk. “And I will be back soon. At midnight, remember?”

Bastian grinned and nodded quickly. “I’ll see you at midnight, Lo. Try to have some fun, won’t you?”

“My heart won’t be in it,” Iolo admitted with a shrug. “You will have to keep it safe for me until I return.”

Bastian swallowed. “I will, as long as you need me to.”

Iolo blinked in surprise, his lips parting for a moment before the prince shut his mouth with a snap. Bending at his waist, Iolo kissed Bastian’s upturned smooth forehead and then swiftly leaving the room without looking back.

His fingers ghosting over where the prince’s lips had been, Bastian collapsed back on the mattress with a sigh.

“Well, that was heartwarming.”

“Be quiet, Han,” Finn scolded, emerging from the water closet while General Solo and Lord Skywalker exited the dressing room.

“Apologies for eavesdropping,” Luke offered to Bastian, who propped himself up on his elbows and scowled. “But I’m afraid the walls are rather thin.”

“Something to keep in mind for the future,” Han mentioned, shrugging carelessly as Bastian and Finn rounded on him with indignant

“Hey!”

“Shut it, Han!”

“I think we had better get ready, don’t you,” Luke asked loudly and rhetorically.

_**Four Hours Later**_

Poe gritted his teeth as his brother heaved another sigh beside him. “Lo, if you start moaning again, I will abandon you to the crowd,” the elder prince threatened lowly, just audible over the sweeping orchestration.

“I regret ever teasing you for hating balls,” Iolo grumbled darkly, eyeing the dancing underway. “This is agony.”

“No, it’s not,” Poe countered drily, passing his brother a glass of wine. “If you weren’t moping, you’d enjoy this immensely.”

Iolo accepted the wine, frowning, his eyes drifting towards the panel concealing the servant door from where Bastian would be watching the party, under normal circumstances. “What time is it,” he asked instead before taking a sip.

“Not yet midnight,” Poe confirmed, barely repressing an eyeroll. “Jess or Karé will be sure to let you know. You should probably have another dance before you slip away.”

“No.”

“With me,” Poe amended exasperated. “I wouldn’t force your company on anyone else when you’re in this mood.”

Iolo finished his wine in another gulp. “Very well. Have you danced with Finn yet? That should provide a bit of light entertainment.”

Poe discreetly pinched the younger prince hard in the side and Iolo flinched away with a laugh. “I haven’t even seen Finn tonight; I’ve been too busy tending to you.”

Iolo winced at that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--,”

“Lo, don’t,” Poe warned softly. “After the hell I’ve put you through, this is the least I can do to begin to make amends. There will be other chances for Finn and myself to embarrass ourselves in front of the nobles of the kingdom.”

Iolo chuckled in agreement, breaking off as Knight Jess drew close and bowed. “Is it time,” the younger prince asked hopefully.

“No, your highness,” Jess answered apologetically. “Lord Skywalker has begged an audience.”

“What, now,” Iolo inquired skeptically. “Why?”

Jess shook her head. “Snap didn’t tell me. All I know is that the king asked you both to join him.”

“Did Finn say anything to you,” Iolo directed to his brother as Jess withdrew and the princes began to weave their way around the ballroom.

“No, not a word,” Poe murmured back. “What are they thinking—didn’t Skywalker say he wasn’t planning to attend?”

“I have no idea, but if he is demanding a public audience now, he might be as mad as Finn always said,” Iolo quipped before falling into step behind Poe as they ascended the dais. “Father, what in the name of all the stars is happening?”

“I haven’t the slightest notion, my dear,” King Kes replied as his sons took their place on either side of the throne. “Sir Wexley asked me to trust him.”

“I think Snap might need a vacation,” Iolo told Poe, perturbed. “He’s been acting strange for the past few days.”

“Thank you very much for waiting until now to tell me,” Poe shot back sarcastically, clasping his hands behind his back and planting his feet, his eyes focused on the grand staircase.

“I had other things on my mind,” Iolo countered out of the side of his mouth, copying his brother’s stance.

“Perhaps you both could continue this argument later,” Kes suggested decisively. Abashed, Iolo and Poe exchanged commiserating looks while the king gestured to the herald.

Kaydel tapped her staff against the stone floor, the orchestra abruptly halting and the dancing couples freezing in place. In the following hush, Kaydel drew back her shoulders and announced, “Lord Luke Skywalker and General Han Solo.”

The tall doors at the top of the grand staircase immediately opened to a chorus of gasps and murmurs and four figures stepped over the threshold.

“Oh,” Poe breathed.

“My,” Kes gaped.

“ _Stars_ ,” Iolo hissed, stepping forward only to be stopped by his father’s extended arm.

Slowly, levelly, Lord Skywalker and General Solo began their descent and, following two steps behind, came Finn and Bastian. Luke and Finn wore near identical looks of satisfaction, but Iolo could only stare at the fourth member of the party, his hand resting in the crook of Finn’s elbow, which even at the distance was obviously needed for physical rather than emotional support.

Poe swallowed drily, risking a quick glance at his younger brother, standing transfixed and mesmerized, hardly breathing as the group began crossing the large ballroom, the guests parting rapidly before them. Reaching out, the elder prince laid his hand on the king’s shoulder, felt the tenseness there, and took one step forward. 

Finn, catching the slight movement, directed a smirk to his fiancé, who relied with a wooden look.

“Lord Skywalker, General Solo,” the king greeted in a tone that betrayed nothing. “Welcome.”

“A thousand apologies, your majesty,” Luke offered cheerfully with a short bow, mimicked by the general, Finn, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Bastian. “I hope I won’t take up much of your time.”

“Not at all,” Kes demurred stiltedly.

“I believe you are acquainted with my son, Finn,” Luke continued flippantly, and Poe had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“I am,” Kes acknowledged formally, inclining his head in acceptance of Finn’s second, deeper bow.

“I regret that I was unable to present him formally at the time of his eighteenth birthday,” Luke said with a put-upon sigh. “Circumstances were such that I was detained. However, I vowed I would not allow such an oversight to occur again.”

“Indeed,” the king asked with a hint of suspicion. “Was there any likelihood of that?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Luke admitted with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That is why I was compelled to interrupt this evening. I hope Prince Iolo will forgive me.”

Kes looked over his left shoulder, noted his younger son’s frozen, astonished form, and replied, “I think there is a strong possibility that he will.” 

“That soothes my worries greatly,” Luke said with a wide smile, stepping discreetly on Han’s toes when the general snorted. “Now, of course, I hope you will allow me to present my younger son--,”

“ _What_ ,” Poe blurted.

“—Bastian, who is on the eve of his eighteenth year,” Lord Skywalker finished undaunted, stepping to the side and drawing Bastian forward with a gentle hold on his hand.

From his left, the king heard a familiar mirthful giggle, hastily stifled. Reaching out an upheld hand, Kes waited until Iolo’s hand grasped his before saying calmly, “This is a surprise. I trust you have the necessary certificate?”

“Of course. Now, where did I put that,” Luke asked, extravagantly patting down his person. Bastian bit his bottom lip, his shoulders shaking, while Finn cast his eyes upwards and thrust a sealed scroll to his father. “Thank you, Finn. I would forget my own head if it were not attached.”

“You’ll very likely lose it soon, if you keep this up,” Finn hissed softly.

“Where’s your sense of adventure,” Luke queried quietly, accepting the scroll with a wink.

“Rapidly diminishing—you’re giving Lo a heart attack,” Finn retorted before stepping back and fixing a benign smile on his face.

Luke, undeterred, made a show of checking the seal thoroughly, before placing it in Kaydel’s outstretched hand. The herald cast a nervous glance at the monarch, only breaking the deep red wax seal at the king’s nod. For a moment, the only movement in the ballroom was the unfurling scroll.

As Kaydel’s eyes scanned the sheet, Poe released his father’s shoulder and, reaching behind the tall throne, blindly grabbed his brother’s free hand. Iolo, his eyes not leaving the herald, squeezed Poe’s fingers in response.

Clearing her throat, Kaydel squared her shoulders and lowered the scroll. 

“Your royal majesty, your royal highnesses, lords and ladies of the kingdom, may I present Bastian Skywalker, second son of Lord Luke Skywalker, godson of General Han Solo, and heir to the Skywalker name.”

Lost in the immediate pandemonium was Bastian’s shout of joy, Finn’s tight embrace of his father, and the king’s hearty laughter. Turning around, Kes asked, “Well, my dear, what are you waiting for?”

Thus snapped out of his trance, Iolo’s dumbfounded expression morphed into pure elation. Bending quickly, the younger prince bearded cheek with a breathless, “Thank you,” before jumping off the dais and instantly catching Bastian in his arms. “I could kill you, bug,” Iolo whispered fiercely in the seventeen-year-old’s ear.

Bastian’s whole body trembled with giggles, his eyes swimming as he met Iolo’s relieved blue ones. “Not the declaration I was hoping for, but I’ll take it,” he teased, his thin, calloused hands cupping the younger prince’s face. “I think my heart is about to explode.”

“I know the feeling well,” Iolo replied, shaking his head in sheer amazement. “How in all the stars did you pull this off?”

“It was Poe’s idea, wasn’t it, Finn,” Bastian asked cheerfully, the addressee tossing up his hands with an exasperated,

“I do all the work and Poe gets the credit!”

“I wish I could,” Poe laughed, joining the small group and bumping his shoulder against Finn’s, “but I swear this never even crossed my mind.”

“You said it was easier to marry a Skywalker than change the law,” Finn shrugged. “Now we’ll see if that holds true.”

“Why is Bastian the heir and how did you get that certificate,” Poe demanded of his fiancé as his brother lifted the seventeen-year-old off his feet with a delighted laugh.

Finn rolled his eyes and sighed. “Honestly, Poe, try to keep up. When I forfeit my claim to the Skywalker name to marry you, naturally the title will fall to my younger brother.”

“Which you suddenly have now,” Poe contributed with an incredulous shake of his head.

“Which I have now,” Finn agreed easily. “As for the certificate, that is between Han and the Registrar. They have history,” he added mildly with a careless shrug.

“I will never underestimate the Skywalkers again,” Poe marveled.

“You better not. And don’t think for a moment that this changes things,” Finn said sternly. “We will have that law revoked, Poe. I want our children to have the choice to marry whoever they want. But I see no reason why Lo and Bas needed to suffer while we sort it out.”

“Our children,” Poe repeated numbly, and Finn shook his head.

“Never mind, I’ll figure it out myself.”

“You’ll have my support, of course,” Iolo interjected happily, his arm still around Bastian’s hips as the younger man leaned against him, blissfully. “And my eternal thanks if your plan tonight included an inconspicuous exit.”

“I just got here,” Bastian countered instantly.

“And you can hardly stand,” Iolo pointed out immediately.

“This is my first ball and I’m not leaving until I’ve had at least _one_ dance!”

“Dance? I don’t trust you to walk.”

“You won’t win this one, Lo,” Finn advised wearily, Bastian preening with satisfaction. “He’s been practicing for the past two days.”

“With whom,” Iolo asked suspiciously, eliciting a snort from his older brother.

“With our father, but thank you for the insult,” Finn shot back with a half-hearted glare.

“Small comfort,” Iolo muttered to Poe, who nodded in agreement and earned a shove from his fiancé. Bastian gave a slight whine in the back of his throat and the younger prince sighed, “Very well, but it’s at my objection. Sir Wexley,” Iolo directed to the knight standing at the foot of the dais with a proud look, “please request the conductor resume his duties, preferably with a slower tempo. After that, you will take the next week off to recover from the madness the Skywalkers inflicted on you.”

“We didn’t coerce him,” Bastian said as Snap bowed and retreated. “He offered to help.”

“I’m sure he did, but something tells me he did so without the slightest notion what it would entail,” Iolo replied from experience, shifting to thread Bastian’s arm around his own. “Now, you shall have your dance and if you stumble, lean into me. I’ll carry you through.”

“I won’t stumble,” Bastian retorted, raising his chin. “Just watch and learn.”

“Oh-ho! Is that how it is,” Iolo chuckled, leading the way to the abandoned dance floor.

“Well, it’s clear who will rule the roost in that household,” Poe commented lightly, watching his brother guide Bastian into hold. “The jackets were a nice touch.”

“Yes, I think so,” Finn agreed smugly as Bastian, clad in pale pink with delicate blue stitching, laid his hand on Iolo’s complimentarily clad arm.

Poe hummed thoughtfully as the orchestra began and Iolo twirled Bastian under their clasped hands and then pulled the younger man close. “You know, I shouldn’t leave my brother alone to be ogled,” he mentioned.

“Lo won’t notice,” Finn rejoined with a nervous glance at Poe’s bright smile. “No. I’m not dancing.”

“At least it’s slow,” Poe wheedled charmingly. “You’ll have plenty of time to decide the timing.”

“I told you, no.”

“Don’t you want to support your little brother?”

“He’ll survive,” Finn said flatly as his fiancé grabbed his hand. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had—well, the worse since you threw Lo in the dungeons,” Finn amended fairly, allowing himself to be dragged reluctantly towards the center of the ballroom.

“Oh dear,” Kes grumbled with such foreboding that Luke looked around him for a threat. “I’m afraid Poe has convinced Finn to dance.”

“Yes, and why is that cause for alarm,” Luke queried, retrieving two glasses of sparkling wine from a passing footman.

“From what I have heard, dancing is not your—elder—son’s chief talent,” Kes said apologetically.

“Indeed? How frightful,” Luke replied with a grin, passing one glass to the king, who took it with a questioning look.

“You don’t seem concerned.”

“Concerned? Not at all. After the maneuvers those two put me through this week, I intend to enjoy this evening and all of my children’s foibles to the utmost. What’s more, you would do well to follow my example. Cheers, old friend!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived chaotically ever after, I suppose!
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> All comments and kudos are truly appreciated and used for motivation. I aim to reply to all comments.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are marveled at, appreciated, and cherished. I aim to reply to all comments.
> 
> Part Two to follow!


End file.
